May 25, ----
That last entry was a bit weird. I can't figure out how to delete it. It's almost like something is keeping me from doing so. I've been thinking a lot about apotheosis lately, not in the religious sense, but simply in the sense that all things must one day end. Is it really apotheosis if there's not a kind of dramatic about it? What truly defines an end?
I got a letter in the mail the other day. It's so funny how you need to go through all that junk - anyway, I went through the mail and it was the usual, deals for pizza and flyers and then there was a plain white envelope, unaddressed save for my first name. There was a slip of paper inside. All it said, in precise font, was: When does apotheosis become a continuation?
Hi! My name is Noor, and this is my blog. I didn't have a diary as a kid, but I figure it's never too late to have one.
Have fun!
May 25, ----
You know, it's a weird thing to live a life half-imposed. No, let's start somewhere else. Let's talk about the woods. Let's talk about -- Why can't I think! Lkast summer sorry for the typo ths keyboard is so stuff and some letters don't com eup right andI'm trying to type fast and it's just not working. Let's have a talk, you and me, let's talk. There are people who look at other people with an inherent superiority. Like, my own father, he put his warm hand on my head in a way that conveyed ownership before it conveyed adoration. It's weird, isn;t it? How can you look at a person and feel that kind of solidness. Th eknowledge that you're safe in what you own, and what you own is what belongs to you. You can't put a claim on, on flesh and blood abd bone. You just can't. You can say you can. But you can'.t.
The letter that came to the house, sorry,last summer I wanted to --- what did I even want to do? Find you. That same weird kind of thrum in my chest, like my hart was a songbird throwing itself against its ribcage in the mornings in mournings and well you're not gone are you? Yuo're there, I can hear you, why cna't anyon else hear you?? The letter, it sadi something about a rabbit. A rabbit. What wa s your favourite animal, Hira? What was it?
You know, it's a weird thing to live a life half-imposed. No, let's start somewhere else. Let's talk about the woods. Let's talk about -- Why can't I think! Lkast summer sorry for the typo ths keyboard is so stuff and some letters don't com eup right andI'm trying to type fast and it's just not working. Let's have a talk, you and me, let's talk. There are people who look at other people with an inherent superiority. Like, my own father, he put his warm hand on my head in a way that conveyed ownership before it conveyed adoration. It's weird, isn;t it? How can you look at a person and feel that kind of solidness. Th eknowledge that you're safe in what you own, and what you own is what belongs to you. You can't put a claim on, on flesh and blood abd bone. You just can't. You can say you can. But you can'.t.
The letter that came to the house, sorry,last summer I wanted to --- what did I even want to do? Find you. That same weird kind of thrum in my chest, like my hart was a songbird throwing itself against its ribcage in the mornings in mournings and well you're not gone are you? Yuo're there, I can hear you, why cna't anyon else hear you?? The letter, it sadi something about a rabbit. A rabbit. What wa s your favourite animal, Hira? What was it?
May 22, ----
I’ve started getting letters.
I’ve started getting letters.
May 10, ----
It’s been a few days. I’ve settled into the apartment. The building is old, and it sold for dirt cheap. You would’ve loved this place. The floor is always cold, and the upstairs neighbours have their TV on all the time, to keep their cat company or something when they’re out. There’s a clear view of the woods from the back, though. Vast. Endless. You really feel like it’s a living creature standing here with your chai in the morning, watching the mist evaporate off the tops of the trees like so many specters fleeing into the air. Are you one of them?
I will go out tomorrow and begin my investigation, so to speak. I have a job now, at the Black Cat Cafe. You know, it’s weird. You disappeared and we all just kept moving around your absence, like if the sun one day just popped out of existence and the planets and everything about them continued going. It shouldn’t be possible to accommodate that kind of gap, but we did. Abu kept going to work. Ammi took up knitting classes at the library. I got my degree. I got a job. I feel like you’re a tooth in my mouth that I can’t stop worrying at, a hairline fracture that throbs in my life. How do you get past that, losing a sister? How could you ask me to work through that loss?
It’s been a few days. I’ve settled into the apartment. The building is old, and it sold for dirt cheap. You would’ve loved this place. The floor is always cold, and the upstairs neighbours have their TV on all the time, to keep their cat company or something when they’re out. There’s a clear view of the woods from the back, though. Vast. Endless. You really feel like it’s a living creature standing here with your chai in the morning, watching the mist evaporate off the tops of the trees like so many specters fleeing into the air. Are you one of them?
I will go out tomorrow and begin my investigation, so to speak. I have a job now, at the Black Cat Cafe. You know, it’s weird. You disappeared and we all just kept moving around your absence, like if the sun one day just popped out of existence and the planets and everything about them continued going. It shouldn’t be possible to accommodate that kind of gap, but we did. Abu kept going to work. Ammi took up knitting classes at the library. I got my degree. I got a job. I feel like you’re a tooth in my mouth that I can’t stop worrying at, a hairline fracture that throbs in my life. How do you get past that, losing a sister? How could you ask me to work through that loss?
May 03, ----
Hi! So you guys are all probably wondering why I switched sites, and it’s because I moved! I say ‘you guys’ like anyone is actually reading — force of habit, maybe.
Mahira has been missing for five years. When I told Abu that I wanted to move to Point Pendras, too, he just shook his head and then went back to his woodworking. He pretends to be unbothered, but there’s a peculiar kind of pre-grief about his movements, the lines of his face, like I’ve already vanished, too.
The move was simple. Uncomplicated. Not much to move anyway, just what little furniture I needed and my books and recording equipment. I got it all done in a day and set up my bed and my shelves. Had takeout for dinner.
It’s weird. When she first vanished, I found this forum for people whose loved ones had gone missing. It was full of entries from the other halves of missing sons and wives and best friends still wearing friendship bracelets. I used to obsess over it. There was this one woman who said that, when enough time has passed, there is a memory of a person that has to be killed. No matter if they’re alive or dead somewhere out there, for your own peace of mind, one day you have to wake up and stop their memory from shambling onwards. Isn’t that so weird, Mahira, you, whose bedroom they still keep locked up and tidy? Isn’t that just so weird.
I am in Point Pendras. You are here too. If you had died — I know I would have felt it. The world would have stopped for grief. If I press my cheek to the hardwood floor, I feel as if I can hear your footsteps thrumming across the surface from some other place, your laugh hovering in the birdsong from outside my window. You are not dead, Mahira, but you are stuck. There’s nothing in the world worse than a birdcage.
Hi! So you guys are all probably wondering why I switched sites, and it’s because I moved! I say ‘you guys’ like anyone is actually reading — force of habit, maybe.
Mahira has been missing for five years. When I told Abu that I wanted to move to Point Pendras, too, he just shook his head and then went back to his woodworking. He pretends to be unbothered, but there’s a peculiar kind of pre-grief about his movements, the lines of his face, like I’ve already vanished, too.
The move was simple. Uncomplicated. Not much to move anyway, just what little furniture I needed and my books and recording equipment. I got it all done in a day and set up my bed and my shelves. Had takeout for dinner.
It’s weird. When she first vanished, I found this forum for people whose loved ones had gone missing. It was full of entries from the other halves of missing sons and wives and best friends still wearing friendship bracelets. I used to obsess over it. There was this one woman who said that, when enough time has passed, there is a memory of a person that has to be killed. No matter if they’re alive or dead somewhere out there, for your own peace of mind, one day you have to wake up and stop their memory from shambling onwards. Isn’t that so weird, Mahira, you, whose bedroom they still keep locked up and tidy? Isn’t that just so weird.
I am in Point Pendras. You are here too. If you had died — I know I would have felt it. The world would have stopped for grief. If I press my cheek to the hardwood floor, I feel as if I can hear your footsteps thrumming across the surface from some other place, your laugh hovering in the birdsong from outside my window. You are not dead, Mahira, but you are stuck. There’s nothing in the world worse than a birdcage.