I’m a happy person.
And stubborn too.
In fact, I’m stubbornly happy.
With lots of hope and complete trust in God.
I always try to be happy with whatever I have. Or Had.
Except when it is 9th of January of each year.
I was 14 years old when my father was shot. Dead!
No, he wasn’t a part of any gang. Or politics. Or anything of that sort. He was genuinely the most loved-by-all-type-of man that even after more than a decade people remember him in the most wonderful words ever.
بِچھڑا وہ اِس ادا سے کے رُت ہی بدل گئ
اک شخص سارے شہر کو ویران کر گیا
Till this day I wonder what life would have been like if somehow January 9th got skipped from the calendar of 2002. How he would have surprised me on my 16th birthday? What my high-school & university achievements, scholarships, certificates of excellence, and graduations would’ve felt like if he was there to celebrate? Would I have missed a whole year before applying to go to college? How my wedding would be like if he walked me down the aisle?
He taught me how to be strong. How to keep my head high. How to always be with truth regardless of the consequences because in the end, truth always prevails.
I wish I kissed his hands and face often. I wish I expressed and said that I love him out loud. I wish I hugged him for all those times he looked towards me with love and forgave my mistakes. I wish I thanked him every time he took me out to eat when I didn’t like the homemade food and also thanked him for buying and filling my drawers with things before I even asked for them.
گزر تو جاےّ گی تیرے بغیر بھی لیکن
بہت اداس بڑی بیقرار گزرے گی۔۔۔
I write this blog entry before January 9 ends to pour my overflowing heart out so it feels a little less heavy. And my pillow gets a little less wet with tears. And someone out there feels a little less unfortunate. I try to remind myself that…
‘What doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger’