Showing posts with label hijab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hijab. Show all posts
"she took the midnight train, going anywhere."
No, she took the Piccadilly Line to SoHo.
She makes her way through the busy London streets. A rugsack over her shoulder and headscarf wrapped quickly. Always with a cup of coffee in one hand, the other pushing her glasses up. Dresses for the wet weather but forgets about the puddles. Heels always soaked by the end of the day. This is the life chosen and the life lived.
The small town girl lives a big city life. Hoping she won't shatter like the big city dreams.
She makes her way through the busy London streets. A rugsack over her shoulder and headscarf wrapped quickly. Always with a cup of coffee in one hand, the other pushing her glasses up. Dresses for the wet weather but forgets about the puddles. Heels always soaked by the end of the day. This is the life chosen and the life lived.
The small town girl lives a big city life. Hoping she won't shatter like the big city dreams.
it has been three weeks since I went to
london fashion week
London itself is a hectic city. London, during Fashion Week, is another kind of hectic. Beautiful people wearing precise makeup, clothes picked meticulously. I could only watch in awe, my heart beating and mouth agape.
It is exciting to watch the week unfold onscreen. To watch it in real life is exhilarating. The outfits I wore was only a fraction of my week in London. The week was spent going from show to show, all across London. Worried I might forgot about every detail, I did what any sane person would do.
I filmed it.
wow.
Outfit planning stressed me out. Even though it shouldn't.
I spent weeks meticulously planning my outfit for the four day I attended. Which then proceeded to crash and burn due to unforeseen circumstance. Nevertheless, I found myself lucky with pieces to wear. New clothes hanging on the rack. I squealed as I coordinated each outfit for each day.
So here are my outfits for four days of London Fashion Week.
H I T M E W I T H
T H A T S T R E A M O F D O P A M I N E .
I want your sugar in my veins. Blood is too bitter for my body. A shot is all I need. When I inhale the smoke and seed, you are all I feel. I don't want to feel anything but this. As I float away, grasping at your ecstasy, I find you everywhere. Under your influence, I don't want to let this go.
Yet, I can't take this. Once my mind clears, I know. There is no clarity with you, just empty bliss. But once struck by your eyes, I'm hooked on your spell. I can only think of you. There is a wickedness to your smile, and I wipe it away. I need to ask;
" I S T H I S B Y D E S I G N O R R A N D O M F A T E ? "
But who does? When faced with the uncertainty of certain farces, we cower behind humour and sarcasm. I keep my head forward, back straight and feet planted to the concrete. Dressed in black to suit the forsaken. Large rims hiding tired eyes, and lips parted to breathe. Wandering around the streets, alone in the crowd. I am lost.
I lost myself.
And maybe that's okay.
I A L W A Y S W O R E A U N I F O R M
From kindergarten to sixth form, I wore patterned skirts, plain white dress shirt with a square scarf. For nearly 12 years, I knew what to wear every school day. The uniform hanged on my rack without much change, save for a few faint stains. Everyone looks like everyone else, no one bothers looking nicer in a sea of plain white fabric.
University is a little different but the same nevertheless.
Looking nice for the first few days then changes to a new kind of uniform. Sneakers, hoodie and bedhead. Like every other girl in university. Luckily, I organised an outfit. Just for the first day.
' M Y S U B J E C T I S W A R ,
A N D T H E P I T Y O F W A R . '
- W I L F R E D O W E N
And war is upon us.
I feel it underneath sickly skin, sending shivers down my spine. The sun hides my disdain, so I lavish in its warmth some more. Begging the sun shall never set but knowing night will fall. I strap my boots tight, tall and sharp. I ready my armour, painted leather and green.
I kiss my lovers goodbye, that I pray to see again. Then march into battle, to wage war against no one.
I L I K E R A Y A
Even if I am getting older.
More cynical and livid. Eid is something I look forward to every year. A constant good in my life. This year is no different, just 'prettier,' I like to comment. Dolling up, looking better every year. Last year, I featured my Three Days of Eid 2015.
More cynical and livid. Eid is something I look forward to every year. A constant good in my life. This year is no different, just 'prettier,' I like to comment. Dolling up, looking better every year. Last year, I featured my Three Days of Eid 2015.
Here are Three Outfits of Eid!
I R A R E LY D R E S S I N G R E E N
It was never my colour, but it suits you well.
Your emerald skin glistening when we meet. I see your false smile and respond with my own. We hold our grudges in our handshakes. We do not resent. We do not hate. We do not brawl. Yet I see the venom dripping down your lips. Words biting but always failing.
You are not my rival. You are an annoyance.
Green looks good on you. Matches the envy in your eyes.
H A P P I N E S S I S . . .
You.
Watching you sleep. Your breath short and staggered from nightmares where I can't save you. Yet I still watch you. Wishing I could fight the demons alongside you. Instead, I brush through your madcap locks and wait for your return.
You see me in your dreams. Young in a field of flowers, the meadow reaching our chests. I stand beside you as a friend, paramour and rival. But in that moment, everything falls. What is left is us, and our desire for nirvana. So close within our reach.
Then you woke up.
You see me in your dreams. Young in a field of flowers, the meadow reaching our chests. I stand beside you as a friend, paramour and rival. But in that moment, everything falls. What is left is us, and our desire for nirvana. So close within our reach.
Then you woke up.
I whispered to myself, stepping inside Greenhouse by Muir. A glass house flourishing in floral greens. My hand lifting the L'orient skirt, the other clutching my mother's arm. We climbed to the highest floor to the TudungPeople Hi-Tea Party.
"I shouldn't be here." I whispered to myself. But God knows, I wanted to be.
"I shouldn't be here." I whispered to myself. But God knows, I wanted to be.
I F I W A S A D A Y ,
I W O U L D B E M O N D A Y .
No one enjoys Monday, much preferring Sunday's sweet laughs or Friday's wild temper. Monday begins her slow start with a third coffee. Monday is never a favourite, but that was never her purpose.
A reckless recluse struggling through. Eyes squinting beneath sunglasses from the scorching sun. It heats her morning cup. Tight grip in hand and tumbles through life. Monday wakes up grumpy and sleepy but carries on to move forward. For the rest of your days to feel joy, she will consume the woe.
Monday begins with you and stays with you to remind you. The problems you must stride through and perils you hide from. Monday prepares and helps in her own ways.
You'll leave Monday for better days, but Monday still remains. Always there for you.
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