Time is like sand, sifting through one's fingers, only to end up as a pile of bittersweet memories at the bottom of a shapely hourglass that is our life. There is no beating it or escaping it. It is ever-flowing, constantly changing, and never the same at any point.

When we are young and our eyes have just become accustomed to the harsh light of day, our hourglasses are full to the brim with sand. For some the sand runs out quick, in the blink of an eye, taking them before life does in its own brutal way. But for others, it moves ever so slightly through the funnel of their hourglass so that every moment is dragged out, torturous even, so much so that they are forced to beg for death, only to receive silence from the Almighty above.

As time passes and the sand begins to accumulate, the world beyond the hourglass begins to seem clearer and easier to navigate. Anxiety is eased and a newfound confidence fills up one's being with every passing second. The filtered sand functions as currency to ensure one's happiness and well-being until one day, it runs out and life is over before you know it.

So dearest reader, make sure to spend your time on Earth wisely. Do not take for granted the fact that you are alive for life though tumultous is still beautiful, and make the most of the sand that your specific hourglass has been bestowed with. Wield the rising pile like the sharpest sword and slice through the mesmerizing facades of this world with strokes of perfection. The result will be a life worth living, one that will be celebrated for centuries to come. After all, who doesn't want to live forever?

"Clouds are the dream weavers of the sky, spinning fantasies in sunlight."

What a beautiful sentence, I thought to myself as I flipped through the pages of Rabindranath Tagor's poem, Stray Birds.

I did always wonder why clouds appear at times like the things we see around us everyday but then I remembered that as humans we are on the constant search for meaning, even to the extent of creating some when there is none. I think that's beautiful, how we envision something and then will it into existence or 'manifest' it if we want to turn to modern lingo. But at the same time, it scares me because it borders on delusion.

Some people will see the 'good' in someone who is most parts dark and full of vicious intent. They will believe determinedly and obstinately that such people will change their ways for them and become better people. But the truth is, some people cannot be saved. Not unless they want to be, anyway. It is intent that matters, in my opinion. The rest comes to you. However, when a person gives up on themselves entirely and abandons all hope, there is little that can be done to bring them back. Sometimes they are just too drained to give a damn and other times, they don't see the point in changing, perhaps because they have grown so used to it. The consequence of picking up bad habits, I guess.

What I'm trying to say is that people will see what they want to see which brings me to my final point that we are the true dream-weavers, not the clouds. We think, we imagine and we create. This is why it's so important to stay optimistic and to never lose sight of the silver lining that Tagore seems to be hinting at in his poetry.

Hanging out with her feels like laying on wet grass on a hot summer day, with the sun heating me up with all its strength. It feels like walking through a rose garden, with nothing but the flowers' intoxicating fragrance surrounding me. It feels like quiet peace, like I'll be happy forever. And that is the best feeling I could ever ask for. My best friend is kind, sweet and caring. If she ever goes shopping, she makes sure to get something for me too. But most of all, she listens to me and I listen to her and this way we help each other bloom.

*Trigger warning: abuse*

Your arms snake around the curve of my neck, choking me up, the air leaving my lungs bit by bit as your hold tightens. Fear all of sudden leaves my body and I feel myself relax under your grip. It's only when I'm completely out of oxygen that the panic rises up within me like burning, hot lava. I don't want to die! I writhe and twist against your warm body, trying desperately to wriggle out of your chokehold. Black spots dot my vision, spreading across my line of sight like smudged mascara or perhaps thick black paint as soon as it touches water. Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, the life being sucked out of them with every passing second.

"I'm sorry."

Your useless apology falls upon my ears like a faraway echo of times I'd rather not recall. But I do. I remember every minute of it. I remember it all.

It began with curses under your breath, barely audible to me. Then a push, a bruise, a slap. You no longer remained my lover, instead taking the shape of something monstrous, something I was no longer familiar with; someone who scared me to my core, who made me feel loved at times, but mostly alone.

I should have seen it coming. I should have recognized the looks on my friends' faces, a mixture of horror and disgust when I told them how you pushed me down the stairs because you were too drunk to realize what you were doing. Oh, how I defended you, like my life depended on it. And now look, you're the one taking it away.

Dear God,

Why me? Why couldn't you have chosen someone else to bear what you gave me? What you dumped upon my weak bones? Why did you make me suffer so much? Do I deserve it? What did I do wrong to deserve such punishment? Do you love me? I wait for a sign, any sign that you do. You have given me a lot to be grateful for, but what I need most is closure. I need to know why. Why me?

Your starved, forsaken lover,

-Ruby

On a plate. Starving, writhing, begging me to spare you. All I want for Christmas is to bite you, get a little taste of you. But honestly, it'd be better if I left you for the vultures. Not even my dog could stomach a rotten egg like you.

They say the fruit of patience is sweet. They aren't wrong. It is so delicious, especially when you're full to the brim of it! Resentment, hatred, vengeance... Building up like red, hot lava beneath that cool exterior.

"She's so chill!" They say.

That's why they or rather you my dear, will never see me coming! Right now, I must be one of the shadows that lurk at the back of your mind, never truly coming forth because of how hard you try to keep me at bay; keep me from engulfing you in the very darkness you sowed in me. You really shouldn't have done that.

Because now you'll pay for it.

One day, the truth will come boiling to the surface and when that happens, you'll be done for. The best part is that no matter how hard you try to smear me, I won't care. I'll be past caring at that point. What I will relish however, will be your ruin and your misery. So, my dearest enemy, watch your back! What goes around, comes around.

If my soulmate were to be a mixture of the aspects of all my exes, he would be tall, hazel-eyed, tan, curly-haired and slim. He would be proud and vain and harsh with my feelings. He would adore me in private and ignore me in public. He would call me stupid and fat on private chat and always try to belittle me. In all honesty, if my soulmate were like this, I wouldn't want one to begin with. It's better to be alone than to be in a constant state of pain and torture, stuck between loving them till your last breath and letting them go.

It's true. I am a patchwork of everyone I've ever loved. I am green in some places, blue in others. I got my insecurities from A, my first love; my self-doubt and self-loathing from F, my second. From my third, I received a perpetual sadness, and from my fourth, a burning rage that will protect me from love for at least 3-6 years. But I'm also sunny-yellow with the joy and glee that my mother gave me; happy and calm thanks to my father's teal. I am red because of S my best friend who is now just a distant memory, floating somewhere at the back of my mind. And I am purple because of M, whose free spirit and sparkling ambition I yearn to embody. I am pieces of all those I have loved, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

A sudden jolt shook me out of my deep sleep. It felt as if my very soul were being pulled down by a heavy weight, only to be released up into my brain in a matter of seconds. Through crusty eyes, I squinted at the scene in front of me:

The dim, yellow lights in the plane were flickering and there was a lot of movement. For a whole minute, I was just stationary, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Then, the shrieks of the stewardesses started becoming more and more shrill until there was nothing but sheer panic on the flight to Manchester.

Rubbing my eyes hard, I was finally able to make out one of the women, her arms splayed out against the wall of the plane and her beautiful face contorted in pure, unadulterated fear so that she resembled the tragic counterpart of the laughing mask that is often used to depict the nature of a play. Another one of the women was clinging on to the faded lobby curtains for dear life and before I could even sit up in my seat, the oxygen masks dropped before us, waiting to be worn.

My mother, who was sitting right besides me, started putting on the mask in a hurry while I just stared at her, not quite able to grasp the gravity of the situation. Or perhaps it was because my body had gone in flight mode and I had totally lost touch with reality.

"Sitara?"

I could see her face up close, only it was not one but four all at once. And the world was spinning...

The last thing I felt before I succumbed to the ringing in my ears and the darkness creeping in, were her soft hands desperately trying to put the mask on my face.

I still remember the day that my English teacher passed away from cancer and the time when my uncle's lungs gave up on him. This all happened within a year. 2020, I think it was.

Not a day goes by that I don't miss them. They had the purest souls and remained in high spirits till their end. I don't think I've ever been hurt as much as I was when I was told of their demise. Life is unfair like that, taking away the good ones from us a little too soon.

Miss Lubna and Munib uncle were and always will be, my role models. They gave me strength when I needed it the most and helped me power through some of the most difficult times in my life. Their unwavering optimism and faith in me, gave me hope that better times would come.

I will never forget Miss Lubna's wise counsel and uplifting words when I was at my lowest, nor will I forget all the times Munib uncle made me sit by his side, just to laugh with him at his clever jokes and jibes. At times I felt he loved me more than his children.

That's the thing about love and loss, I guess. Without experiencing the two, we wouldn't value people or the memories we make with them. We would be a thankless nation, completely unaware of the beauty that resides within the human soul, a beauty that has the ability to evoke pure, unadulterated joy in its recipient and inspires them to achieve their true purpose in life.