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.

In all honesty, I don't know what to say. My mind goes blank whenever I think of her or at least try to think about what went through her head when she broke up with me, not once but twice. She kept saying she was miserable, depressed even but wouldn't give me a reason as to why she was feeling that way. Sometimes I feel as if I barely knew her. Throughout our relationship, it felt like something were separating us, never allowing us to be one, like the veil that separates the dead from the living (though in her case, it was her thoughts and emotions that she kept masked effortlessly behind sparkling eyes and that beautiful smile). I think Sitara is and always will be an anomaly for me, a mystery that I will never be able to solve, you know why? Because she won't trust me. She won't trust me with that side of hers that she dare not show a single soul and I'm starting to think now that she may be right because if she weren't, then I'd still be there by her side, waiting for her to open up to me so I could embrace her for all that she is. Maybe it's better this way. But that doesn't mean that I have or ever will forget her; I am and will forever be haunted by the ghost of her.

Beep! My hand reaches out in the dark, slamming shut the clock that has been ringing in my ear since what feels like forever. It's a chilly winter morning and I can feel the warmth on my face as sunlight filters in through the blinds. Looking around my room, my gaze falls upon the stationery pouch sitting on my desk, neon highlighters in pink and yellow spilling out. Three diaries in navy, emerald and maroon rest right next to it, waiting to be filled with words and scribbles over the next four months. First day of school, here I come.

Loneliness for me, is this painful feeling, like I'm being squeezed from the inside and my throat is closing up. It's this feeling that no one will ever love me or care for me as much as I love and care for them. My efforts will never be reciprocated in the same manner from the people I thought were my brothers and sisters. It's the feeling that I will be left alone in the end and nobody will even bat an eye if something were to happen to me. For me, loneliness is akin to being physically left alone because I fear that it is exactly what will happen as I age and grow. In fact, it is happening right now, as we speak. The people I have grown up with no longer require my presence or even crave it. For them, I am like a burden, a duty that they must fulfill, with their customary hellos and how are yous. But as of late, we barely speak to one another. It's as if our relationship was one-sided all along. Once I stopped approaching them, our bond ceased to exist. It was then I knew where I stood in their lives. I sometimes ponder whether I ever mattered to them at all. I feel stupid now, looking back at all the times I acted silly in front of them, if only to make them laugh. However, now that I know my place, I have distanced myself. Now I watch them from behind a screen, posting pictures with the people who really matter to them, while I start to feel a certain loathing for them as I gaze at their smiling faces. Nothing will ever be the same now.

Nestled in the moist sand, I breathe in the balmy summer air, feeling the occasional spray of salt water across my tea pink shell, as I watch the sun go down, looking as glorious as ever. I can feel the warmth emanating from the glowing orb. It feels like I've been cocooned, sheltered by its embrace for an eternity. But by nightfall, the couples have gone home and the sky has turned a midnight blue. There is a deafening silence broken only by the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of bushes nearby. Meanwhile, I lie embedded within the sand, staring up at the frosty stars, wishing for the hours to go by quickly so that it is sunset once again and I can bask in its warmth, for as long as it shall remain.

This is what life is like along the shoreline. It is lonely, yet peaceful. It is monotonous, yet exciting. It is the only life I have ever known but I have never wished for another, because I am content. I am content with my solitary existence along the shores of this beach, because it makes me feel special, like a spectator being entertained with their very own private show. I am content with the biting cold that is only intensified by the lukewarm ocean, washing over me every once in a while, because it increases the longing I have for the sun and makes the fruit of my patience all the more sweeter. I am content because I get to live out my days surrounded by nature before I erode with time or am sweeped up by a particularly strong wave and carried away to lands unknown.

When I look in the mirror, I see two, big, fearful eyes looking back at me. Sometimes I can't even raise my head to look myself in the mirror because of how scared I am of the person looking back at me. As if looking at myself would unleash some great power from within, one that I nor the world would be able to handle. So I keep my head bowed low, never truly appreciating what's in front of me, what's inside me, in fear of letting it get to my head and driving me crazy. Isn't it strange?

I like to think of myself as an awkward, little ghost, blending with the background, moving about unnoticed. Moving in silence, yet hyper aware of all that is happening around me, as if the numbness hasn't set in yet and I am a newborn ghost, someone with a youthful soul, someone who has not yet tired of roaming the earth but feels like it's a whole new world just waiting to be explored. As if I hadn't done enough exploring alive. I get to revel in the feeling of being an outsider, looking in, examining each and every person's life, closer than ever, never giving away even a hint of my presence. I feel sneaky, like a child watching something that they've been warned not to, but it's fun in a way because I get to see a whole new side, to people I thought I always knew. But this is a blessing and a curse. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss and I should remember not to indulge my curiosity by following people into their homes because sometimes, curiosity breaks your heart. It leads you to answers you realize you never wanted. You were perfectly content with the version of themselves that people wanted you to see. So I move, from place to place, person to person, hoping I might find someone who's the same as they are behind closed doors. Until the panic sets in, until I go mad with worry that nothing is as it seems, until I feel no more like myself, I am content with moving in silence, examining each and every person's life, closer than ever, never giving away even a hint of my presence.