Coffee and cigarettes.

I didn't want life to do this. I didn't want to become so busy that everything became superficial, unable to penetrate the surface. I fell into the same rut that all adults fall into; monotonous routine, day in and day out. I miss writing. More than that, I miss reading. I miss reading other people's words and blogs and letting the words sink into me and touch some part of me that related to it all. Words that made me close my eyes and take a deep breath, and would make me feel satisfied for the day.

May 4th was the last blog post I wrote, over two months ago. I have since crossed oceans, moved to the United States, back with my parents and siblings. I have graduated from med school, Alhamdulillah, and obtained my Bachelor's. I have helped move into another better house here where I live. I've learned to drive, and got my permit and license within a month. I have started preparation for the next phase of my life, which is residency in a US hospital. So physically, there have been changes. Inside, my heart is in Lahore, and in a million pieces.

 My heart is with H, who I won't see for the next 8 months. My heart is with Kt and my niece, who I won't see God knows when. My heart is with A, whose availability and like-mindedness made final year (and my last year in Pakistan) worth it. A small piece of my heart is also in Karachi, that opened my eyes and made them brighter. I miss Pakistan intensely. More so because I don't have anybody here. We came to a state and town where nobody knows us and we know nobody. I don't know if Dad intended for that to happen. It's a beautiful town. The hills offsetting the back make me feel like I'm in Islamabad and the greenery is to die for. But do I feel like I'm in the States? No. Not at all.

So your heart is not where your home is, your heart is where your people are. But we have consistently been told not to make homes out of human beings.

The motivation to tredge on through this life and this struggle must come from within. All my closest friends live upstate, and the simple matter of the fact is that I can't afford to see them. Me and my family are working tirelessly to assimilate in this society, understand the system (it has changed so much since we left in 2003) and to create our niche. Everyone has told me the struggle will happen, and it is real. The struggle is years long, and it will be hard. And hearing that makes me feel a wee bit better, but it doesn't stop me from longing for my old carefree life in Lahore. Every step you take to get older just gets more harder, and we long for the past problems. I long for the days where all I had to worry about was studying for a Surgery test. Adulting, this is.

Days are full, goals are present.
I am insanely addicted to my phone, and I think I'm on it all the time because I'm trying to distract myself from thinking and remembering how much I miss my people. But the phone addiction needs to stop.

I'm going to try to keep myself more updated on this blog, to rejuvenate it as an outlet for when I can't talk to anybody, which happens more so now than it did before.


I leave you with a picture of the stunning hills mentioned.