As I sit here in the silence of my room, wondering what will become of me, what lies in my future, and how do I tell my parents that I want to see a shrink, I can see nothing. There seems be nothing for me to see. How did I go from a place where I knew what I was doing and why to not knowing anything of where I want to go or who I want to be? I find myself in a kind of limbo, where all you feel is restlessness and a desire to escape but you lack the means and the energy to anything. How do you escape from a place that saps you of all your energy and drive? What do you do when you desperately want a relationship but find, increasingly, that having one would bring far too many complications with it? How do you know that it is actually worth the risk? Where do you go to escape when the prison takes physical shape but lies in your mind? How do you break free of those chains? So many questions and not nearly enough answers.

They’re all, most of them, so bloody selfish that only one of them actually seems to see anything. Why is it that the ones that matter never se anything? Why is it that we give importance to those that do not care?

I am now home. And I wonder, if they had told me before that I would not be allowed to go abroad, would that have changed my decision? Would I have been back in Lahore by now?

I am now home. And I’m not going anywhere. Somewhere in the back ground I can here the thuds of the nails being hammered into the lid of my coffin. Where do I go now and what will become of me?

I am home now. Tell what it is that you want from me. Tell me what it is that you want me to be. Tell me. I am a blank slate waiting to be written on. I am a blank slate waiting for you to give me a personality. I am a blank slate, waiting.

Waiting. That’s it is I ever seem to be doing. Simply waiting.