God is Pleased

London is great when it is sunny. Warm London is the best kind. Today it hit about 20 degrees and I remained ecstatic despite spending a majority of my day in a shopping mall sipping a latte from Starbucks. And, they spelt my name right. I suppose my name isn’t that difficult to spell anyway, I mean for a brown person. Most of us have really long names with silent letters and all, me, I am plain and simple – Meera. Equally easy to pronounce Mee-ra. Although the British say Meh-rah. Oh, accents. My accent lies somewhere in between Kenyan, Ugandan, Indian and maybe even Arab. I am just putting the Arab in there to sound really culturally diverse. My accent is very Indian and Kenyan…Kendian?

OH! OH! Other than sunlight in the UK, gay marriage has been legalised! I am so happy! I am so gay! (see what I did there?) I mean, call me old fashioned but I think that’s just God sending out sunlight in the form of “well done for being so great, UK, you rock!” Come on, freezing countries that still consider homosexuality illegal, take a hint! It is, after all, right before your eyes.

My family have come down to visit and it’s great having them around. It’s nice, and it’s incredibly refreshing. I am having a marvellous time! And I hope you are too, wherever you are in the world.

So, an old friend of mine said, or bitched about, how weird I am. And I am almost certain she meant it as an insult because why the fuck would anyone want to be weird? Well, my dear, why the fuck would anyone want to be ordinary? I am not going to lie that I was a little bit disgusted by this, but hey, we’ve all been mean girls. Right? I know I have. Anyway my point is, she wanted to insult me or look down on me because I am weird…but I wasn’t insulted. I was quite content actually, because, as weird as I get I will always be me. Era. And I am proud of that! I am weird and dysfunctional and eccentric. I am no puppet of society. So why oh why would I be insulted by being called weird? Also, I had once wished upon having a daughter much like this old friend…but taken into consideration her teensy mind and mean girl attitude, I would much rather my daughter be like me.

It may seem immature of me to blog about it, but I’ve decided to write an autobiography through this blog. Which, I suppose means speaking my whole mind. And, I have a little note in my bedroom that reminds me to write honestly. So why the heck not.

I love you all,
Thanks for reading this!
Until neg-est time,
Meera.

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Numbers

15.5 hours in the library
7 trips to the bathroom
4 different meals
1 bottle of sparkling water
0.5 bottle of tap water
0.25 bottle of coke
2 cups of coffee
5 different hairdos
38 pages of Harry Potter
6028 words down
4 occasions of goosebumps
2 car trips
Innumerable laughter

Playlist Life

My days have almost been ceasing to exist ever since I have started to work on my dissertation. It is almost as though my life is on repeat. I get up each day, shower, change into the same pair of jeans as the day before, put on the same pair of shoes, set the same playlist on repeat, eat the same cereal, and then hit the 0 button on the lift. I walk to uni with The Killers blaring on my headphones, I sing along to Brandon Flowers and imagine what it would be like to be in a band. Every single day. I continuously push the traffic-light button in the very hope that it will get rid of the shiny red man and replace him with the shiny green man, at a faster rate. I arrive at the library with the same bunch of receptionists staring at me to check I have brought my identification card. The same British accent says thank you as I walk toward the group zone of the extremely chaotic library. If I am lucky, I find a spot. I enter my log in details and begin to take off my winter coat and purple scarf. The voices around me are louder than ever,so I put my playlist on and turn the volume up to the loudest so that I can drown the voices around me. I study the people around me, and more often than not I do not care for them. Except today, a bunch of second years had gathered around my table and I was livid. There’s a particular type of people that cause alarm bells go off inside of me. And what is more irritating than that? Ugh. I threw disgusted looks at the egoistic boys that clearly thought they were  all that and had a massive rant about it in my already busied mind. I decide to get some coffee. So, I collect bits of change from my backpack and make my way to the cafeteria. I feed the vending machine 75p and punch the numbers 7 and 7. That first sip of coffee is always the best. I sit down at my computer and begin to type. I type nonsense 98% of the time. Then, my friends and I go get lunch at the uni restaurant, and we have massive laughs.

I come back home change out of my jeans and top, and into my nightdress.

And then drift into doing whatever I feel like.

This is my every day.

A playlist that is on repeat.

i.

i.

Jerry walked toward the automatic glass door and immediately into the large library. He dragged his feet, his sneakers brushing against the carpeted floor as he made his way to the library’s reception. ”Classical fiction?”, he whispered in a strong Southern accent. The veiled librarian looked up at Jerry and pointed him toward the massive shelf that was a few steps away from the history and art section. Jerry nervously walked toward the shelf, his eyes fixated on his feet. His mind, racing with thoughts. ‘Classical Fiction’, read the bolded sign on the middle of the dark blue wooden shelf. Jerry stood in between the two shelves, still staring at his feet. He picked up a book and studied its withering edges. He fingered the title of the book, whispering to himself the name of the book. Sens- boom. Jerry exploded. The entire classical fiction was set on fire in a split second. Chaos spread across the library just as quickly as the fire spread itself onto the history section. Jerry burned to death. The books turned to ashes. The veiled librarian screamed as the fire traveled up her wrinkled skin. The building was up in flames. The only thing that remained unharmed was the pair of sneakers that protected Jerry’s feet.

The End. 

Today.

Today for the first time in ages, I laughed out loud and even snorted in the process. I have talked about really personal stuff openly and made a great friend, that in this foreign country I actually feel connected to and I can relate to. I watched a play, The Importance of Being Earnest, and had such an incredible time.

I am now laying in bed thinking why I hadn’t initiated this friendship earlier, why I hadn’t attended more plays or more events organised by my tiny campus. It is undeniably upsetting that I left it so late. But hey, better late than never, right?

Maybe life works that way and maybe that’s why days like these are so memorable. Today, for the first time in ages I felt alive. I am so grateful and so happy, and I would just like anyone that reads this to appreciate the little moments. To look in between the lines. To go to the events organised in your home towns. To participate in the little things. And above all, to live.

Lots of love.

A letter

A letter to my teenage self:

So, I have seen tons and tons of these before, and I figured now that I am twenty-one, why not give it a shot. So here goes.

Dear teenage-self,

You made it to 21 and I am so proud of you. The days you were certain you wouldn’t make it past 15, 16 and 17, must be inscribed in your memory. But you made it, and you’ve done so well. Well, you’ve done better than you thought you would. You’re graduating from university in less than three months, you’ve discovered many things about yourself, you’ve seeked help, you’ve made a wonderful set of friends, you have learned how to forgive, to love, and oh, the list is endless.

I remember when you were thirteen and you cried because your mother scolded you about something, she called you something you didn’t like and you just weeped in the bathroom. Don’t worry about things you are called, don’t let them define you. Not now, not ever. You’re doing alright in school, you love your friends and they love you back. What more could you have asked for. Your first best friend left in 7th grade, gosh, you missed her so much and you cried. And cried. And cried. But that’s okay, because people leave all the time, sometimes literally. But you made it. Well done.

You’re in the 8th grade, what are you doing bestowing an enormous amount of your trust on a stranger you met on the internet? Don’t be so silly, Meera, the virtual world is good, yes, but the real world has a lot more to offer. But I understand, a self-confidence that’s the size of a pea must have been really difficult. You shut off your computer almost immediately, I applaud you for that. To this day. Don’t worry about being popular, focus on your school work and respect your teachers. They are only looking out for you. And how dare you bully the girl that sat in front of you because you thought she was weird and smelt odd. I am so ashamed of you. To this day. How dare you bully anyone at all, you disgust me.

Why were you so eager to be friends with the new kid in grade 9? Was it because she had a cool accent or because she looked really pretty? It’s okay, because she ended up being one of your closest friends. A close friend you have no idea about anymore, oh, what a friendship. Why did you quit the play? You are so stupid. Mocks matter, but you failed them all anyway. You may as well have failed while making a room full of people laugh…and making sure your English teacher didn’t develop a grudge against you.

Well done on your IGCSE results, you did wonderfully I am so proud of you. I must tell you, or rather scold you, for pretending to finding certain actors attractive just because all your friends did. No. You should have said what was in your mind, that you just did not understand why or how. But that’s okay, when you’re a teen, fitting in is almost as important as breathing.

Meera, Meera, Meera, how could you have given up on all your dreams so easily? How…and why did you? I am still mad at you. I will never get over that day when you were 16 wearing your nearly bought uniform, in a new school, telling a man you had met for the first time, ‘’I am okay with dropping literature and media’’, you’re so stupid. Where was your mind? Where was your heart? Silly girl. You regret this everyday, and you should, it is all your fault.

I am really amazed at how you took the initiative to shred some weight, about time as well. You managed to get so much smaller, and you quit sodas as well.

Meera, women are not meant to be treated like shit, despite what you have witnessed, women are human beings. Let your father scold you, you are not defined by his scolds. I am glad you realised that, took you long enough, but well done. And trust me, it’s okay to find women beautiful…women are so damn gorgeous, what are you hesitant for…don’t argue with your mind so much.

You really found a lot of yourself on tumblr, didn’t you…made some great online-friends…thankfully none of whom were like that stranger you trusted when you were so young.

You did excellently in business and you should be proud of yourself. Because you owe it to yourself. And how shamelessly you failed all your mocks once again. Oh oh oh, the way you were embarrassed and still cut class after. Silly girl. And carry on getting excited about watching those Paramore videos, because you do know deep down you are going to see them. Well done for not giving up your love for them. And aren’t you glad you sat down in that bookstore and picked up that novel that everyone kept talking about…something about a wizard boy…and a magical school…by a woman author…something based in England. Those books were your escape. Actually, books had long been your escape. And I am so grateful you gave that list to your mum. Thank you, Meera.

Don’t take the boys that call you fat and ugly seriously, they are no better. Not one bit. And please, remember that the boys you see in movies or read about in books aren’t at all like the real life ones. Please don’t dream so hopelessly, it is painful when you finally realise it. And never ever utter the words or agree to the words, ”boys will be boys” or ”men are men”. Never ever. Do you understand me? And, be thankful each day for your friends and your teachers and your family.

You’re weeping so much today, it’s your graduation day! Oh, the way I wish you cared enough to speak to more people in your grade. There is no fun in being reserved, but I guess that’s just who you are…even now. Always remember that you are strong for not being talked into giving it all away, so strong. I am proud of you. But all it took was a few incidents to give you the perception you have on men today…hang on, that perception was developed when you were just 11 years old. It took you 7 years to learn it, 8 years to understand it, 9 years to say it out in words…or scribble all over your journal about it…and 10 years to figure out who you are. Wow.

You’re going to university! You’re going to study something fun! Or so you thought. But hey! You’re going to England…the land of…of…of magic! Or so you thought.  England is very different from Dubai, right? I wish you had accepted that writing job, you once again failed yourself. I wish you participated more. I wish you spoke up when you were so ill treated by your first friend here. I wish you did so many things differently, Meera. And shame on you, once again, for bullying. You’re 18, you should know better than that, utterly disgusted. But well done, for getting rid of all the toxic people in your life. Well done for understanding that you matter. Don’t waste time on crushing over the same person, he does not care for you. Focus your energy on the people around you, your friends, your family, yourself.

Meera, I am so proud of you for getting help. You defeated your sadness and know that you helped many people. The courage and strength it took you to trust a stranger, I can never get over. But you kicked your sadness in the butt! And it soon became one of your many dreams to be there for anyone that is going through what you did. And you’re doing…pretty well at that…I suppose. And I am glad that you learned how to take care of yourself.

The Delhi gang-rape shook you up did it not. Violence against women shook you up didn’t it. You are against abuse of any form – physical, verbal, emotional…because you have witnessed, and experienced some of it. All it took was a single month to turn you into the feminist and pro-women rights (hopeful activist) that you are today. But, I guess you’ve always been that way. Ever since you were 11 or 13, you just didn’t know it yet. And it is a trait that you should be extremely proud of…despite what people say. Always remember feminism is understanding the notion that women are human beings…or something along the lines of that. And it took you far too long to realise that, so don’t let anyone take that away from you. Fem Power…all the way.

You are here now, as a 21 year old…and for some reason still wondering what it would have been like to live your dreams. And still trying to figure yourself out. I am going to tell you, as your 21 year old self that it is not too late. I believe in you. Know that you can get through this. Know that you have come so far. Know that you have yet to live and experience life.

Love,

Your 21 year old self

II

I haven’t read in a while,
and it’s only because
the protagonist
reminds me of you

and I am so disgusted.

Hiatus

مارحبا

I greet you in the language I take pride in knowing how to read and write. And although I do not understand a word of ارابيك, it would definitely go on my list of skills should I become an actress. Much like Joey Tribbiani and his French and milk drinking skills.

I hope you are all doing well. I have got an upset tummy because I over ate yesterday. I had 3 cans of coke, if you may know even just a little of what I ate. Drank? Drunk?

So I skim-read today that the no-make-up-selfie raised (why doesn’t my keyboard have a pound sign, why so racist, keyboard?) £ (I FOUND IT) 2 million! Pretty damn amazing, human beings!

Anyway. Late on Friday night, I had decided to go on hiatus mode with all my social websites….by which I mean Instagram and Snapchat. Because a) I spend too much time on Snapchat doing my-storys that I am certain only 3 people give a shit about, one of them being me. I mean, I got blocked by one of followers today…not that it matters. Or maybe it does. Does it? Duzzzzit? Would she? What? How do I wind up always quoting Friends. Moooooving on. Instagram has started to majorly bore me. But my hiatus lasted less than 24 hours.

Oh, look at that, another thing to add to my things-i-am-so-insanely-lousy-at-i-should-dig-myself-up-in-a-room-of-sand-so-as-never-to-be-found list.

I have to go now because I have run out of things to whine about.

Bye,

Meeeeerrrrraaaa

36 & 37

Day 164 at the library and I haven’t grown bored of it. I am totally kidding, I have grown entirely bored of it. A book lover bored of the library, how does that even work? Well it does – if you have to read academic papers upon academic papers of cruise tourism and how to make a succesful business, while trying to control your bladder because of the 3 cups of coffee and 1 can of coke you’ve drunk. Yes, this is my life now. Also, feeling extremely awkward and anxious while sat in the group zone. But, hey, music helps. A lot.

A LOT.

I have been super stressed so I have been eating lots of junk food, not that it matters because I eat junk food on a regular basis anyway. Does coffee make you dizzy? Because I am feeling slightly that way right now, or maybe I am just over reacting because I tend to do that a lot. Sometimes. Not always, though. Anyway, have you ever come across those super good looking people that have the ability to break your heart even though you have never spoken to them? And even though they wear jackets made of feathers? And spacemen outfits? If you haven’t already guessed, I am talking about Brandon Flowers. Everytime I watch YouTube videos of him singing and dancing around, my heart breaks just a little and I want to cry because how on earth does he manage to look so good without even trying. But that’s Brandon Flowers, he’s a celebrity, celebrities are all good looking. It’s far worse when you see that person very often and you can’t say much but your eyes get fixated on their beauty. I’ve come across two people like this in my uni. And I do not even know their names. Well one of them. Help me, I am rambling.

So today is my mother’s birthday. Happy Birthday Ma!

I just googled too-much-coffee and I meet a majority of the symptoms. Shit. Shit. Pardon my profanity, I have spent the whole day by myself in the group zone. I have to get out of here. Let me complete my challenge.

Day 36 – What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive?

Accepting yourself. That took me super long.

Day 37 – What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why?

Well. If I were to choose, I would pick The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – I can’t seem to get past the first few chapters. But it’s probably me. It is my goal to read the trilogy. K?

Before I head off, let me tell you my dream from last night because I woke up this morning and muttered whoa, Meera. Basically, it was the month of April and I was still in London. And I had a baby. So I was on the train going to a venue that had a Paramore concert that night. So, I bumped into this girl on the train and I told her how I really wanted to go see Paramore but I hadn’t any tickets. And then she was said she can sneak me in, so I was super excited. Now we talked to the bouncer-guy and he let me in. YAY! (Not really sneaking in is it?) Anyway. So I was right at the front hoping Hayley Williams would pick me to sing Misery Business with her on stage. Hoping, hoping. I needed to pee. Damn you, bladder. So, I went to the toilet and my baby was crying. So I took it out of my backpack. That’s right, I put my baby in my backpack. What the actual heck? So anyway, I gave the baby to my mum because it was hungry and I didn’t know how to deal with it. And then before Hayley Williams could pick me, my alarm buzzed. I was somewhat relieved because I know better than to put my baby in a backpack. But, holy cow.

Anyway. I am going to go back home because I have to walk. And it’s dark. Do the maths.

See you later,

Meera

P.S – If you’re wondering about my coffee-overdose-fiasco I went to the toilet. Definitely awkward, but I feel better.

36 – Which word needs to exist (or be used again)?

Oh! I KNOW. Maybe the word umm, ummmm, ummmmmm I don’t actually know. I am so sorry!

I am currently jamming to Kenyan songs because I do miss home! And by Kenyan music I mean a playlist of E-Sir and Nameless, because I am from THAT generation.

So much love going to to all my Kenyans on here.

Meera,