Mariya Ali

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

Page 29 of 40

Dear POTUS

Dear Mr. Obama,

I was delighted to read this article. It was touching to see you so visually moved by the tragic and horrific gun crimes that have been  committed over the years. I applaud you for standing against the influential lobbies that sway congress and make (common sense) changes impossible. It was very astute of you to announce that mental health will have additional funding, so that ignorant people who think that the US gun violence problem is due to poor mental health care cannot pick holes in your argument.

I do understand that there are some instances where these crimes are perpetrated by people who have mental health issues, but the fact that this minority are able to acquire firearms easily allows them to carry out attacks. It is always a positive thing when the spotlight is shone on mental health and resources are allocated to it, as it is obviously a very serious issue which lacks sufficient resources. (As an aside, perhaps you could also address the fact that not all health care plans in the US cover mental health – that’s akin to saying “this plan covers all illnesses other than those that affect the kidney”. I’m sure that you can see that this is nonsensical and a very stupid thing to do).

It’s been a great 8 years in office and I feel like you have accomplished an incredible amount, despite having a congress that disagrees with you and blocks a lot of your bills. As a non-resident of the United States, your international policy has been steadfast and has somewhat redeemed America from the catastrophic PR that Bush Junior created.

Yours truly,

A quite content citizen of the world.

PS. Please don’t vote for Trump.

PPS. He’s worse than Bush. I didn’t think that I would ever be able to say that about anyone.

81

 

Protected: To New Beginnings

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Protected: Dear Future Husband…

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Protected: Of New Year Resolutions…

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Broken Wide Open

Am I wrong in giving out my website URL to someone I barely know? After all, I do bare my soul and share things that I wouldn’t tell a stranger, so isn’t publishing it on my blog the same thing?

What am I afraid of? If I stand by my desire to be an open book, surely this shouldn’t worry me. Perhaps I’m not as carefree as I like to think and I am genuinely bothered by how people perceive me. Will I be judged on my past discrepancies? My health? My (dire) previous relationships? My experience with Voldemort?

Then I remember, this is what he did to me. I started this blog without a second thought about sharing the details of my life. I’ve always been honest and brave and quite frankly, a bit like teflon. If people judged me, perhaps it would hurt for a moment or two, but I would quickly shake it off, think “that’s their shit” and then move on in the blink of an eye. After him, I worry. I have been engrained with caring how people perceive me, filled with insecurities about what they must be thinking. All the thoughts he put in my mind…am I crazy? Am I broken? Am I damaged? Am I fat? Am I unattractive? Am I high maintenance?

Then I remember the person I was before he came along – the real me, before that pathetic individual planted these seeds in my mind – and I remember my resolve to be openly, completely, unashamedly me (warts and all). I recall how I spoke out on FGM and received a hate message from someone who was disgruntled because he thought I was attacking our religion – I apologised for him taking offense, but I stood firm in my beliefs. That’s the person I was when I started this blog, openly talking about my bipolar, insecurities and the nuances of being a young single girl navigating the mind field of jerk guys out there (who I seem to be a walking magnet for). I’m the girl who receives messages from women saying how they can relate to my life. I’m the girl who people approach to applaud me for speaking out and sharing my experience of depression, saying that they can relate. I’m the girl who gives out advice to other girls to empower them after they’ve been heartbroken. That’s who I am and that’s who I want to continue to be…regardless of who’s reading.

Write what you feel; not
To be noticed or envied,
But to be honest.

In response to Voldemort telling me that I’m broken – yes, I am.  I’m broken wide open for everyone to look inside and see my soul. And honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

For new readers: Welcome to my world – feel free to look around 🙂

Santa’s Coming!

Christmas: My favourite time of the year. Growing up in a Christian country, my sweetest childhood memories are singing christmas carols, Father Christmas visiting school and giving us gifts, the christmas card postbox at school, christmas lunch, seeing the christmas tree, pantomimes and many, many others.

The sweetest memories of all are those of my grandmother.  This will be my first Christmas without her.  Days are filled with activities that remind me of her – Christmas was her favorite time of the year, where she spoiled us even more than she did year-round (which was hard to do!)  There are so many Christmas memories with Nanny – her taking us to see Father Christmas at Harrods, christmas lunch in Kensington and of course, spending christmas day with her . In the last few years, I would take Nanny to buy christmas presents for the family and help her wrap them, a shopping trip that she would look forward to for weeks.

A lump forms in my throat when I realize that this will be my first christmas without her – no shopping trip, no christmas card with her familiar writing and no seeing her and hearing her brighten up when she saw us and wished us a merry christmas. A large part of Christmas will be missing this year, and my heart fills with sadness when I realize that this is the first of many more Christmas’ to come without her.

Until I see her again, I’ll continue to remember her – year round – but especially at Christmas.

Season’s greetings Nanny, wherever you are. x.

 87

Stroking Cats Reduces Blood Pressure

My grandmother was always a cat lover, so growing up we were always surrounded by cats. Since then, I’ve always had an affinity for them and always knew how to handle them.  I knew the spots they like rubbed, how to rub them and how to befriend them. Both of our neighbours have cats and I would always pet them when I saw them outside. One of the cats, Alfie, was always much friendlier than the other (whose name I don’t know).

After Nanny passed away, every time I saw a cat it took on another meaning. It was a reminder of one of the things that Nanny loved and brought back memories of Tommy sitting on my lap and nanny showing me how to stroke him.

I began to see Alfie more often. He allowed me to pet him more often and became attached to me. One day, he cautiously entered our house. Sniffing around, he quickly realised that this was foreign territory and ran out. The next time he came in, he ventured halfway up the stairs before making a swift exit. After a few trips, he became comfortable at home.

During his now-frequent-visits, my family got to know him. He became attached to them and allowed them to pet him. He meows outside the door at 5Am, aware that my dad comes downstairs at that time. Someone’s available to open the door for him so that he can run in and have his breakfast.  I use the word “breakfast” very loosely, as it implies that Alfie only has 3 meals a day. This fat feline has multiple meals a day. He’s back outside our house at 9Am, for breakfast round 2, a stroking session from either Bhai or myself, some water (from only one tap, as he’s a rather fussy cat), some grooming time and then a nice long nap on my bed, with a soft, luxurious duck feather duvet to sleep on. He’s certainly high maintenance.  He goes out for some fresh air and then waits outside at 5PM, when my parents return, to open the door for him.

He’s become part of our family, to the point that it feels weird when I see him next door with his real owners. He started coming into our house at the same time that Nanny passed away, which may just be coincidental, but as Krista once said, we’re all meaning-making machines, so we might as well make up meaning that serves us.  Perhaps it is a coincidence, or perhaps he’s a reminder that Nanny is always around. But mainly, he’s a soft bundle of memories of my beloved grandmother. And he has a bit of a soft spot for me, just like she did.

34

Page 29 of 40

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén