Teacup: please stop spinning

Our childhood house had a medium sized garden. And there was this large fence covered with trees and leaves working as a partition from our neighbour’s house.

We couldn’t access the neighbour’s house from our compound. But there was a little gap in between the bushes that we could possibly fit into as children had we tried.

And we would spend days just looking into the neighbour’s house.

They had two daughters and a dog.

It felt like a such a far away place.

I’m not sure if it was real or a figment my imagination, but it sticks very vivid in my memories from that time.

And as a child, I’d often wonder what would happen if I went through the gap and into the neighbour’s house.

Would my family come searching for me? Would I be forgotten? Would I make it back?

When I was little, I would wake up in the middle of the night or very early in the morning with a strange fear.

It would involve me being in a massive field, or a never ending black space, entirely alone.

It was almost as if I had braved the crawl through that gap.

The place would be so dark, cold and eerie.

I would spot my loved ones at a distance, but either they were slipping away from me, or I was slipping away from them.

It was terrifying.

And this visual has recurred over the course of my growing up.

A few mornings ago I woke up, sweaty, with that same feeling, and I burst into tears asking God to watch over the people that I love.

I tried to tell myself that it’s just a nightmare, a bad feeling, and somewhere in between the process I realized it is perhaps the fear of me losing touch with myself.

Of me no longer recognizing me.

I see snapshots the way you see the background spin and blur when you’re on a really fast teacup ride.

Half shutting your eyes, bargaining with your body to please not throw up.

I am laughing. My mum is there, my sisters, my aunties, my friends, the roads of all the cities I’ve lived in, the dreams I had are all there.

They’re looking at me.

I try to call out at them, but my voice is blocked by a playlist of the songs I listened to growing up mixed with the sounds of their laughter.

I beg my body to relax, but it is slipping away.

Everything is spinning fast. Everything is blurry. I am starting to slip away.

And I am terrified.



I am so plotless.

Wait, let me explain.

I have a flight to Mombasa tomorrow and I don’t have my passport. It’s with the British embassy.

(Such a first world problem because I can probably travel with my ID/Old passport – except the details we put in are of my new passport, so help me god!)

I know I am just worrying without reason.

I know it is going to be fine.

I am writing on here because I am bored. And I’ve been told I need different coping mechanisms for when I am bored (achievements?).

So why am I going to Mombasa?

My aunt’s friend has a wedding, and I tagged along last minute with my cousins.


Because I don’t want to be by myself (anywhere but here).


What’s new with me? (A fair amount)

Why does it matter? (Because I am human?)

Who reads this? (As long as you write, someone will read)

Are you still reading? (Please say yes.)

Maybe I’ll write about Mombasa.

I am really really really bored. And lately I’ve been struggling to see ahead. I know I’ll make it in the far-fetched sense of making it. But I am not sure if I will make it or just bear it (is that the right bear?)

I spoke on the phone twice today and messaged people and replied to comments on (the gram) and sat outside with my aunt’s friend to have a full conversation on how much I don’t like the new job. (communication?)

(With this blog post you’d think all I do is complain.)

I went to the temple I did as a kid and I went for coffee with my younger sister and I made her laugh like the old days. (enjoyment?)

I had three mugs of coffee today (one was decaf).

I’ll update you (readers, do you exist?) from Mombasa.

I am bored and I will find something else to do now.


Escape: at the salon

“Hey, oh my god, you’re Alia, right?”

“Rahila, Alia is my sister…well, cousin,”

“Ahh right, sorry,”

“No, no, people mix us up all the time,”

“I wouldn’t expect to see you here…”

“What, doing my hair?”

“No, look don’t get me wrong or anything,” she shifts in her chair causing the lady doing her hair to flinch, “just out in public,” she pauses, staring at Rahila, and whispers, “you know after everything that went down with the family.”

“I mean…”

“I mean it’s great and all but gosh you’ve got a lot of guts…” tsk “here at Joe’s?”

“It’s a good place, no?”

“Sure, sure…” she shifts again, the frustration is visible on the lady’s face “so, did he really do it?”

”You’ve read what the papers have said, right?”

“I mean, yes”

“And so you have your answer”

“Look, you don’t have to be afraid of me and and like-”

“Seema auntie, I respect you, look-”

“Please just call me Seem-”

“What’s happened has happened and will continue to happen most probably, who knows, right? It is not linked with me really, not really, it’s not, not, so why don’t you worry about you and I’ll worry about m-”

“Not linked with you?”

“No, not really, I mean, it’s not,”

“Whose funding your hair today?”


“That’s what I thought,” she let out a sigh “Alia, look,”

“It’s Rahila,”

Rahiilla, Rahila, right…you want to escape all of this”

“…um, yeah, I guess…it’s just”

“That wasn’t a question…come with me after and I’ll show you what to do.”