I’m Ashamed At How Many Times I Do It

I’m ashamed at how many times i do it
in between mouthfuls of muesli
in between ad breaks
on my smoko
on the toilet
and each time I’m left disappointed
yet i go ahead
and do it again
http://www.cheapflights.co.nz
just joking
tricked ya!
we’re actually f’n expensive
you can’t see him
you can’t afford it
I thought it would get easier
like when I’d start working
I’d become busy
and I wouldn’t miss him
or at least, not in this way
don’t worry, Anisa
just be patient
things will get easier
turns out
things get horrendous
okay, maybe not horrendous
I mean, my family isn’t sick
and my boss isn’t a dick
I’m not an unappreciative girl.
just that,
none of that changes
the fact of the matter
the fact of the matter
that i’m stationed here
and he’s stationed there
RA RA RA
welcome
to
my
frustrated
stream
of
consciousness.  

Old Ways Won’t Open New Doors

Tried this before? Coconut yoghurt with turmeric and mango. It has been surprisingly hot. I have been enjoying eating outside in the sun and in the space of a few days, I have gone from no job, well 1/2 job (freelancing for Savvy Tokyo) to 2 and 1/2 jobs. The first is to do with the education of 5-10 year olds. That’s pretty much all I can say without breaching privacy rules. And the second is serving delicious homemade organic gelato, vegan sorbets, and coconut ice-cream for the freakishly talented Utopia Ice. Hashtag life-as-a-wannabe-writer.

Plum and earl grey. Yes, earl grey! CHCH friends, you know where to get your ice-cream fix this ice-cream-weather long weekend ;)
FINISHED. This one is my favourite (so far). I really related to Heidi. She, a real writer, me, a wannabe writer – let’s just say reading it, I had numerous: “for real? ME too!” moments.

Today my mom, my sister and I (dad, God bless him, was working as usual) had a Persian breakfast for lunch. Persians eat bread and feta cheese (here sprinkled with cumin powder) with vegetables like cucumber and tomato (the avocado is a personal addition) with herbs and nuts. And sometimes watermelon makes an appearance, too. Washed down with black cardamom tea. Until the age of seven, all I knew of breakfast was the Persian kind. When we arrived in NZ, I was introduced to cereal for the first time. Also sliced bread. We never had that in Iran. Our bread was huge and round and I had to line up for it with my mom. It would come out of a large round oven filled with little stones. Sometimes, if we were lucky (or so I thought back then) our bread would have one of these stones attached to it. This was my childhood. Walking down the street on my tippy toes, scanning the bread my mother held for lucky stones.

Dear Future Lover

Inspired by the ever so wonderful literature of Zelda Fitzgerald.

I don’t suppose I really know you very well- but I know you dream of me often and that the scent of your cologne dancing around your collar bone is my favorite smell and that your one in a trillion smile makes all my worries go away or else, the way you touch my hand, as if it were sacred, as if I were, as if I am.

I know that your eyes are secret islands gradually revealing their treasures day by day, and that your walk is gravitational, in the sense that I yearn to walk with you for as long as I can, and that our lips are the two jigsaw puzzles still clinging together in the pool of fragmented pieces.

What I don’t know is where you are at this very moment and when and how we will meet next. But darling, those are insignificant, compared to the whole, compared to the way my head fits your shoulder as if our bodies were carved by the same sculptor designed to match one another and as if our hearts were planted by the same gardener specialising in companionship – each one of us supporting the other to reach the sunlight first.