Once Upon a Time…

*

We keep on rolling
Looking for a seven
We’re taking our chances
By searching for Heaven
We’re the fallen Angels
From the sky
We’ve fought our battles
and already died
But we’ve learned one thing,
that stays in our hearts…
Those gates of Heaven won’t open up.

© Sadiya 10-23-06
ps- if you don’t already know, the number “7″ is considered to
be the number of completion, mainly in Christianity.

*

It’s one of “Those” days when you know you know look AND feel like shit. The world hates you and even the lousy hot-dog vendor with the “bread-in-the-beef” dogs from across the street is giving you dirty looks. You eat a pretezel and the ketchup stains your shirt, your jeans won’t fit and even the guy you’ve liked for ages decides to ask the blond-wad from accounting out to dinner. But worst of all you know you have to wake up the next day and live it all over again. One day, though, you realize it’s going to be one of “Those” days and instead of saying “SHIT!! Uh-oh!” and hiding away you decide to take a stand. On your way out you finger the hot-dog vendor [and feel damn good about it!], eat a pretezel without ketchup [and save a shirt], throw out the old jeans [damn they were tacky anyways!] and flirt with Mike from accounting [the blond-wad's got nothing on him!!]; because on one of “Those” days you present a different cheek and say,

*

Above our land a clamour rages
Struggle echoes through the ages
Up there the scuffle shall never cease
But here below we dwell in peace
Here the tides of time drown our memory
Our somber hell only sets us free
The glow of gems light our earthy rooms
And Dragons guard our pitiful tombs
We sing softly of forgotten tales
Magical Creatures that live in lairs
And lonely Queens who cry for Kings
Of Elves and other mythical things
Heed our warning of danger come
Reclaim thy kingdom in Heaven or Hell
Nothing more can we lost souls offer
We sing the song of the dead.

© Sadiya 11-?-05

* 

In every battle there is a woman. You might not know she’s there - history might not even acknowledge her presence but that doesn’t falter anything. She’s still there fighting ruthlessly like the men, or perhaps with a more ruthless manner. She fights for her country, as the men do; she fights to protect her home, her family as the men might; but most importantly: she fights for pride because hers is equal to that of her comrades. Mixed with the blood, sweat and victory roars of men is her roar just as loud if not louder. Their heavy armour is a part of them as it is of her. When she swings her sword, raises her bow, pulls the trigger on her gun she’s no different from the other barbarians. No different.

In the back of her mind she is mocked: you’re not good enough, not strong enough, surely you will die, how can you win against the strength of man? Still, when the enemy’s blood flows down her hands, when she’s killed more than she’s saved, when her world has changed - she knows she’s capable, just as strong as them. And who does the last war cry go to? The powerful woman fighting in a war of men and defeating them as well. Without her last strike they could not have won. She tucks away a reminder of her enemy for satisfaction and proof. Tonight she is celebrated like a real man. And how ironic: she’s a woman but still a real man; the others drink their victory with no self-control. This amuses her even more. Proof, comrades, of her mental and physical strength being in perfect harmony. The night is hers to keep—until they get back.

They don’t believe in us. They treat us like a toy that’s only to be toyed around with. Had they known they damage we could do to their minds they wouldn’t even have the guts to look at our shoes. But it’s all hush-hush. What we can do is for us to keep. But tonight a Hero comes home. Tonight we drink to she who saved our land. Tonight we raise our golden cups and add the General’s missing head to our wall of ever-expanding trophies. Songs will be sung about her but never recorded; she was never at the battle, remember? She never existed on the battlefield but without her they’d all be dead.

Tomorrow the men will ask where the young and fearless youth who saved us went. She’ll smile but not say a word; the severed head keeps her happy enough. The next battle you’ll plan with us getting the strategy to you. You’ll leave to war but we’ll own it with you. You’ll dub us weak but we’ll laugh at your incompetence. So, Hero, you ask yourself who is really in control. You know the answer; we’re all waiting for you to admit it, someday…someday…

Go ahead, Mister Man, hit me if you like. Strike me down; hurt me until I’m blue. Yeah, it’s useless to fight back physically. But I won’t cry. You’ll end up frustrated, scared…alone. You resort to violence but still I win. See, I’m stronger; don’t face up to what you can’t even bring down. Do you know why I still stand, though bloody, and you fall to your knees? Because I know you’ll admit it: I’m in control. Not you. Never you.

Maybe, some day…

© Sadiya 02-21-08

* 

I am a girl who never looks in the mirror at school;
I am not a Jesuit but I dare walk around Gesu.
I watch as the other “princesses” surround it
and wickedly chant “Mirror-Mirror”, “Mirror-Mirror!”
And when I must glance
you bet I do.
I’m not a saint, yet, I’m neither a fool.
I notice right away
the mirror’s twisted truth:
I’m no Snow White
nor will this “Prince Charming” set things right.

Though my skin isn’t as white as snow;
Though my hair isn’t nearly as black as ebony or coal;
Though my lips aren’t perfect droplets of blood,
or my eyes as fierce as a flood…
I can offer something and something I will:
They called me an Angel
I called them blind kill.

I watched the world with an uncertain eye.
I grew up in the protection of lies.
I heard what I shouldn`t
and saw what I could;
I knew enough to take on the world.
But when I left to conquer all
I realized my real eyes were real lies -
Because a Mirror was what I was looking through.

© Sadiya o1-o1-08

* 

My brothers left for Dayton Valley today and it’s kinda weird being home alone for so long.
I mean, they’ve only just left but it’s just me, the TV and my laptop now. And the neighbours
rabid dog but I mean that’s an entirely different story… Anyways, so their gone and I thought
I would be all stupendiously relieved but it’s a little bit of a downer, you know? People are
always like “Oh, wow, you only have two brothers - to deal with on your own?” Yeah, yeah
I do and quite frankly I think I’m the luckiest girl alive. My brothers are close to me in age
and they pretty much kick ass, no matter how annoying they can get. Honestly, whoever
doesn’t have two brothers is missing out. I would trade all the sisters in the world for
my two brothers cuz they’re just that much cooler. With sisters it’s all “oh, I wanna wear
this can I borrow that lets share this!!!” GOSH. But with brothers it’s like “let’s go play
video games and soccer and volleyball and football” and I’m like “hell yeah let’s go do it!”
So, in the end, no matter what people think, having two brothers is the best. They kick
ass and their the best siblings I could ask for.

ps- we’re A LOT better looking then this picture. It’s surprising
how good looking we each are. (fuck you I’m telling the truth)

This is me.

This is Salman.

This is Enaan.

 *

I don’t understand what it is that makes people be racist against another. Okay, I’ll admit
it…compared to most Pakistani people I have lighter skin, most people even mistake me
as being Spanish instead of Pakistani! And I wear jeans and t-shirts and I have bangs like
all the other girls do and I can speak English. Usually, though, when some ignorant and
extremely immature people see me I can hear their whispers of “Terrorist…terrorist…” and
points at me, and my friend who wears a scard around her neck. Still, whatever, no biggie;
I look back at them and say, “Yeah I’m a terrorist, you got a problem with it? I’m two
months short of graduation!” Look I’m totally kidding but I might as well play along if
they’re accusing me of it, right? I have no problem with it. If they want to be assholes
to me then two can play at that game.

But those are just people here and there, people that I won’t see ever again. What am I
supposed to do when the racist is my teacher? Then what? Currently, my English teacher
is making my life hell. I have four other “brown” friends in my English class. I noticed,
and I’m ashamed to say it only just dawned on me, that she put four of us brown kids
together in the back of the room and when my other brown friend came to sit with me
my teacher did nothing about it, though usually when people change seats she gets
really angry. But it didn’t bother her. Maybe I’m assuming things, jumping to conclusions
but my English teacher is always targetting me; and it’s only just started. No other teacher
of my two years of high school has ever given me a hard time about anything. She’s
the first to start butting heads with me. And for what? The fact that I can speak
a language other then English and French? That I call my god “Allah” and not “God”?
Some people…are just so ignorant it’s pathetic. And it makes me sick that they can’t
grow up and get over themselves.

 *

look at her. look at the fat girl rumbling into class. she might not be particulary clumsy
and she might have some labelled clothes but, oh, but look at her. she’s just so big it’s
disgusting. look at her arms and legs and will you just look at her thighs? so disgusting,
so, so disgusting. it’s a wonder why she doesn’t smile she’s as big as a house! and no
wonder the boy she feels crazy around doesn’t give much of a shit - her flab is falling
everywhere! oh my god look at her. look at the fat girl. it’s sad, really, that she’s so stupid
and ugly and fat at the same time. look we all share clothes and stuff and we’d like to
share with her but for god’s sake she’s so fat we can’t do anything about it. god how
did she get so big? it’s so gross just look at her look at all that flab, all that nastyness
and how her shirts and hoodies and jeans look like shit on her. she tries to fit in
but she’s so goddamn fat how can she ever?
look at her.

- Management.

 *

I went to Centre Stage today and, wow, it was absoloutely amazing. The dancers
were so damn talented! It was intense. I kinda wish I danced. I love doing it but
my parents won’t let me for obvious religious reasons [I ended up being born a
Muslim...]. But yeah it was awesome and I loved it and in the end five of my friends
skipped last period to watch the final show. The actual thing is happening later
today but unfortunatley I don’t have a ride to go see it =/
In other news, I saw him and I was going to ask him to come see it with me but I
didn’t. It’s almost like he averts his gaze when he see’s me. What am I supposed
to do then? And if I had asked him then my friends would have looked at me weirdly.
It’s finally the weekend, I kick back and chillax and wait until Monday when I’ll see
him again and maybe try to talk to him. I just wanna know what’s going on but I
lose all my confidence around him, he makes me laugh to no end though. Oh and
my dilemma from yesterday was solved: I found something wicked instead of cute
to wear today. I am eating a watermelon.
<3

 *

I told myself I would never blog about something incredibly stupid and/or realistic.
That would mean I wouldn’t blog about boys. But…here it comes, the epitome of
every teenage girl’s high school life… TheA. Boy. So he’s kinda driving me crazy…
and we talk, we walk together, we’re in two of the same classes and he’s ALWAYS in
my head. But the thing is…whenever I start talking to him, I either say the stupidest
things ever, or I act retarded because I kinda wanna impress him. And I don’t like
straightening my hair because it kills it but lately I’ve been doing that as well, just
so he might like it! I mean I know I practically don’t stand a chance but sometimes
he seems interested and other times he doesn’t. See, he’s driving me absoloutely
insane. I wanted to ask him to go to Center Stage with me [a dance work] but I
couldn’t get up the nerves and when I thought about asking him I just bolted out of
the classroom and left him behind before I could do anything. Center Stage is tomorrow
and I didn’t ask him and now I’m going to regret it all night. And it’s not like he’s one of
those “OMG-To-Die-For!!! HOTTIE!” naw…he’s funny and he likes shakespeare and he
enjoys reading romantic novels - WTF?! But anyways, since Wednesday I’ve been planning
to ask him to go to Center Stage with me, always rehearsing what I would say to him.
And when the time comes I don’t ask. Wow this is a long blog entry. He doesn’t give me
butterflies [kinda not really] and he’s not hot, sexy, beautiful or anything. He’s kinda cute,
specially when he laughs…and…it KILLS me that I say the stupidest things around him! So
I straightened my hair and now tomorrow I have to pick something cute to wear. The
problem is…I don’t own “cute” stuff I wouldn’t say I’m exactly a “cute” girl. Anyways, my feet
smell like nacho’s [@.@] from excessive flat-wear and not to mention I have to pee.
Maybe I’ll ask him, I probably won’t, and I’ll be depressed about it for the entire year cuz
school is almost over and this is pro’lly my last shot.