Vomit.

I have been thinking of committing suicide for some time now. It’s all hell here. I don’t really care, I know but still I wish I’d rather be dead than go on living with people who are all completely mad. Or maybe they’re all normal and I am mad. Either way, there’s no match. Sometimes you think hating the ones who gave you birth is a sin. But does an inside feeling count as a sin? If you’re trying hard not to let your behavior cause them any harm, it’s okay I think. If you’re not letting your feelings corrupt your demeanor, it’s just alright. May be you have to feel. You have to know what is inside you. That is the only way you can keep insanity at bay. Or if it runs in your blood, you can delay its onset.

I have never liked nice girls. They aren’t really nice. We all know they’re only pretending. They’re letting the bitter litter pile up inside of them so that they can either turn into true bitches or end up completely broken. Once in a while, you have to let the bitterness out. Maybe we are unable to satisfy ourselves with a few-word definition of ‘nice’. Our definition is so long, it’s more of an explication. If one is helpful, supportive, and comforting in your hard times, I think that’s nice enough. They don’t have to fabricate their expressions, words and tone to be nice because words are mere sounds when someone really needs you to act. I have hated such nice girls. They aren’t nice but hypocrites. I believe in pouring all the litter out. It’s again, morally, very bad, I understand. Oh God, I might end up in hell but oh! I can’t let myself commit suicide and enhance my chances up to one hundred percent. I believe in finding remedies to my maladies when I can and don’t avoid being a bitch temporarily if it can save my soul from crushing which might lead me to crush my physical being later on. Devil may care what people say. This is something I have least cared about—at least for a past few years. It has made my life really easy. Saved me a lot of head and heart-ache. I hate being where I am and there aren’t very bright chances to be elsewhere better in the future because I don’t want to keep up my hopes and end up in an even worse place—which would again, I am afraid, might lead to self-annihilation.

Maybe this is what I fear—self-annihilation. No, I guess it’s the terrible after-life that follows it.

I have many flaws in my faith, I know but I hope I’ll get better soon. 

A review for The Kite Runner (Movie)

The Kite Runner— Every time I watch this movie, it makes me cry. I am simply in love with it, I guess. If it is necessary to mention, I’d like to say that the acting of both these boys, Hassan and Amir, is simply marvelous! Apart from the story being so beautifully delicate, I specifically admired the little story within the main story of the novel. Here goes beauty:

What’s the story about?

It’s about a man who finds a magic cup. And he learns that if he weeps into the cup, his tears turn to pearls. He’s very poor, you know? And at the end of the story, he’s sitting on a mountain of pearls with a bloody knife in his hand and his dead wife in his arms.

So he killed her?

Yes, Hassan.

So that he’d cry and get rich.

Yes, you’re very quick.

What?

Nothing, Amir Agha. Are you done with breakfast?

What?

Well, will you permit me to ask a question about the story?

Of course.

Why did the man have to kill his wife?

Because each of his tears becomes a pearl.

Yes, but why couldn’t he just smell an onion?

I am too late sometimes in experiencing the pleasure good movies bring. It almost gets to a time when most other people have not only already experienced but also forgotten about a particular movie.

Well, never mind, but I think I desperately needed to pour it out somewhere how immensely I loved and enjoyed this one. J