Sunday, February 27, 2011

Countdown with Shahana Hanif

Life has all of a sudden become a countdown. I'm just wondering, has it always been like this? Have I always been counting...for better days? For that one occasion? For forgiveness? Excitement? Special someone? Life is just a sequence of countdowns. This might be one of the most significant realizations of my being.

I've had 8 weeks to myself. Two damn months. But now only one week remains. Each week gave birth. And the same way deceased. Always looking forward to Friday. Fridays make me happy. Like I live a normal life as most of everyone looks forward to Fridays. Friends accompany me. Family visits. The rush slows down. But before you know it, another countdown begins. 

There are small countdowns. And big ones. Eight more days with crutches. Four months till I leave to meet my other half. 

I haven't written in a while. I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know if I'm sad. But I need to reflect. Reflecting what has passed, what is happening, and what will take place. Sometimes though, I feel like screaming. Really, really loud. However, I'm shy. Shy of my own skin. It's hard to let go. But I love it when I admit these truths. Truths I keep masked. I'm 20 years old and I'm so fucking confused, I feel like slapping a bitch. I don't seem to know any slappable bitches, and that really sucks. While on one hand, life is a countdown full of known events, on the other hand lies the surprises of a future I am clueless about. What am I going to study now that I've wasted a fucking year and a half taking useless sciences classes thinking I'd become a damn doctor? Will I ever be cured of this disease that has taken over my body; marks everywhere leaving me so, so weak in front of people...scared of their judgment? Am I going to get married; is there anyone so honest who will accept me entirely? Children...even though I am so drugged out; is there a chance  for a healthy baby? Will I ever meet my escaped sister and once again have dinner together as a family? Life's a fucking delusional phenomenon. That's what it is. Some days I laugh so hard, and other days I cry like the baby who's not satisfied with milk, toys or her mother.

The thing about countdowns that really gets me is the fact that I'm so hopeful. I become so negative sometimes about living and wish deathful thoughts. Yet, when looking forward to something...I'm actually believing that I will wake up every morning until the awaited day. Hope is sneaky.

Now that I've freaked you all out, I feel better. And that's another crazy thing: venting. Better than any damn drug.

Monday, February 7, 2011


February 5th is now behind us all. The day I was born. Born almost 10 pounds (fat-ass since birth) in weight. Weighed down on my father's arms. Arms that held me high and saw majesty. Majesty means Shahana or in today's terminology: Ms. Divaaa. Diva is now 20. Oh ma fuckin' Gawwwd.

I didn't think I'd be celebrating with crutches. But that's nothing. I actually didn't think I would make it to age 20. Negative, but in all positivity I'm alive bitchesss. I wake up every morning and no matter how cranky I am, no matter how much pain I feel... well, there are some days I'm in a good mood... my insides smile because I'm happy to be alive and living. My mother always tells me to thank Allah for each "blessed" day. And though I nudge her away, I secretly do thank him for life but also for my wonderful mother. Father. My two siblings. And my friends. Each and every single one of them.

Crutches or no crutches, celebration was on my mind. I partied with all my closest friends and family. Location: my house. Dress Code: black and white; except me, I wore blue and green. DJ: Hell yeaaaaaah. Photographer: Oh helllll yes. So in all, the party was pretty kickass. Mind you, I did not dance while standing. I sat the entire time and danced while sitting. Sounds pretty damn awkward, but I think it was a really good workout. My friends danced while circling around me doing some tribal shit. But it was all good. During the in-betweens of the party, we had small conversations and many of us learned new things: HASHTAGGING. This shit is annoying and I don't wanna get into further details about it. #Foreverwack. But if you don't know what it is, google it or ask Ruqayyah Batts (expert hashtagger). We further discussed Snookie's intelligence and the fact that the ocean is salty due to whale sperm, and if you don't believe it, "Google it!" and  no don't ask Ruqayyah Batts because she is not a sperm expert. And lastly, I brought up the Chinese KFC commercial in which an Obama look-alike addresses to the people: "Change, not only for your mom, but for you, your stomach, for a better taste!" This is a fish sandwich we're talking about. And at the end he's crushed by the fish sandwich. Some laughs but also some defensive comebacks from the Obama lovers. This is what adults talk about.

I had the tastiest cake: my favorite: strawberry cheesecake. Even though those bitches spelled my last name wrong, the cake was so was a bit messy and everyone was trying to feed me big spoonfuls of cheescake while the song "Say Aah" by Trey Songz was playing. And let me tell you something. It isn't fun eating big mounds of cheesecake while listening to someone sing "Open wide, I know you're thirsty. Say aah!"

In any case, I had the best time of my life. Being a crippled for the past 2 and some years has been amazing. I complain at times, but I have everything. More than everything. My friends, some say they're lucky I'm in their life. But the truth of the matter is, I'm lucky to have the friends I have. I'm lucky. Thank you all for supporting and celebrating with me. I fuckin' love you people.

So now that I'm done discussing the whole birthday shebang, a little more than 3 weeks have gone by since my surgery. About 5 more weeks of crutches. That will bring me to a total of 8 weeks, if you do the math right. For those who are probably thinking, "Damn, she is so lucky. She gets to stay home all day and in bed. I wish I was her." Avoid it. Don't ever wish such a wish. The days are passing by and I don't even know how they're passing. I've been watching some pretty shitty movies. Some were okay. The Descent 1, The Descent 2, For Colored Girls, Fame, Leap Year, Killers, Up, Despicable Me, The Kite Runner. This is quite an achievement because everyone thinks I stick to Bollywood. I've branched out a little even though I didn't miss any of the Indian award shows. Man, I love those! I finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns and The Kite Runner; currently enjoying How Does it Feel to be a Problem? I'm really digging Muslim authors right now and especially their stories. I'm taking movie and book recommendations! Please feel free to share.

Everyone has been coming to see me, but I've only visited one person: Dr. Sinha. He is my main man. X-Rays look good. My hip is healing and in 5 weeks, I'll be able to walk normal. Normal makes me feel so good. Maybe it's the word that I'm so dearly attached to, but I seriously don't remember the last time I walked up a staircase using both legs simultaneously. I've developed my own patterns of walking and going up the stairs. I just want to go up those damn stairs without being stared at. I hate it when people say, "Oh you wanna be normal. Well, we're all abnormal in this world." I don't know where you got that quote, but if you're walking and your limbs are there for you, holding you up, you are normal. Anyways, sorry for breaking it to you like that.

I feel good this about this year. I just turned 20. Two new hips. I'm gonna get shit done. And to all my friends reading, hit me up once in a while. And if you're going through issues and have no one to talk to, I will listen to or read what you have to say. I am willing to help a sista or a brotha out.

In that note, I will take my leave. Thanks for keepin' it real. I'm 20 bitchessssssssssssss.

Juicy like...
Tomer Madar originals.