Part II of Reclamation Therapy

Heartbreak is simply the aftershock of a very big love. There is nothing sadder in life than a heart that was not broken at all. Jann Arden Precisely forty-four days later, a tidal wave of nothingness hit her again. The nothingness was composed of some shrapnel made...

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At the Spectacle of Ambitious Humanity

It is a Friday evening and a cold wind is blowing outside. Though its only the middle of September, the remnants of the first snow of the season are still present along shaded sidewalks. Yellowed leaves frozen to a crisp are fluttering and the sky is a strange shade...

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Part I of Reclamation Therapy

She placed her faith in people, in places and in things, which is why her ultimate condition was that of misery. Misery of being. There was a high that lasted eight days and before she saw it coming, it came down crashing on her—the 'it' being the façade of joy,...

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Your knee is growing, she said.

On the daily, the mesh of feelings one goes through is a complex web of everything: one moment, its cold charcoal—dark and just there. The next moment, it's a fire, out of control and burning everything down. Before you know it, it's embers, glowing softly and giving...

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Those Were Times Spent Well

Evenings are the epitome of emotional transition. When the sun is finally setting on a long summer day, and when hues of orange, pink and gold are playing hide and seek, it usually so happens that a flood of memories and melancholia befalls the mind: the free mind....

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Glass Bottles & Vapors of Childhood

When I was eight years old, I loved tagging along with my brother and cousin and walking, sometimes skipping, to the little cornerstore by the local neighborhood mosque. It was a five minute walk but thinking back now, the hot summer afternoons would melt away the...

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The Year 1999

the year 1999. what is it about sepia hues and motherland’s mountains that wring the insides of my heart and call my name? what is it about this portrait of my childhood that forms a summation of the ‘90s…a summation so profound, it leaves me weeping for the innocence...

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The Storyteller

"When spring-time flushes the desert grass, Our caravan winds through the Khyber Pass. Lean are the camels but fat the frails, Lighter the purses but heavy the bales! As the snowbound trade of the North comes down, To the market square of Peshawar town." - Rudyard...

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And It Bears Witness

and he toils, ever so, ever yet. this is man. these men. they exist or they exist not—one knows not. and the place still exists, ever so, ever yet. just shinier, polluted, and a little less clean. but it exists. and the earth bears witness to the weight of those...

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The Red, White, Blue, Brick and Stone of Peshawar City

Chipped blue paint. Old red bricks. Remnants of the past. This old man. This man clad in white smiles under the tangle of wires through which sparks buzz as the copper tries to catch up to the new world. A new world, nestled within which are traces of the ancient....

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The Ages Around Instants

During my depressive, post-1984-reading phase, I was helplessly sour at everything. I yelled at my little brother and pictured O’Brien’s nasty grin every time I chased pointless debates with my older brother. It all felt so natural and good, it kind of creeped me out....

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True Liberty

“You’re encased in a disastrous matrix of fear and loathing. You’re just a function. You’re just a function of the universe. You think you’re free. You have no more freedom than a cell on your body. The universe isn’t a democracy. It’s a monarchy. You’re just a...

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The Paper Reality

“Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town. I mean, look...

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Despair No More

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow a thousand times Come, yet again, come, come. -Rumi We are impatient beings, and we unknowingly, unconsciously and indirectly attribute...

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Nourish the Essence of Perfection

We grew into children running around and creating chaos. Surprisingly, the chaos we created was cute to many. Then the obnoxious years of teen bid upon us their presence. We battled through the acne and restrictions, grades and parental consents, the 'I can't wait...

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