Perhaps I was woven from overlapping pieces of fabric. Then came "me", with a little hope from strangers, a little expectation from parents, and a lot of disappointment from myself. Should such a patchy individual exist? If letting go of expectations can save me from being disappointed, I vow to do so. https://www.behance.net/haanh25

Whether you know it or not you have a purpose, don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise. You may not know it yet, you may not believe it... but I swear to my bones that it is true. https://www.instagram.com/dejectedduplicate If I ceased to exist even for just a moment; The sun will still chase the moon like lovers, And stars remain as the fireflies of the night. Snow would still fall every harsh winter season, And spring will come just as Quick to clean up its mess. That pine tree will still grow high till branches touch heaven, Its roots continue to sink deeper Into the soil as its father has taught him. The world will endure without my presence. But I know while I was still there, I left it off better then when I entered. And no one can convince Me otherwise.

Ya-wahabu Wird 14 x 19 x 51 = 13,566 dots Year: 2022 Medium: ink, pen and gold leaf on archival paper Diameter: 20” Gallery price: 52,500/- pkr Each one of us has their spiritual side, a bond which they keep personal, between them and Allah Pak. Each one of us has a different connection with different attributes of Allah. Reciting them makes our lives bearable. My work is based on a spiritual experience, which I believe everyone has gone through. Allah has designed each and every element of this piece with a very interesting math component. Inspired by his name MUSAWWIR, I choose to explore and engage with my journey based on self-made calculations started by a mere nuqta (dot). The nuqtas developed into calculated drawings of my connection to the names of Allah. All of these mathematical calculations are in praise of Allah and reinforce a belief that no one could ever understand his dimensions. https://instagram.com/mahwish.artsy?igshid=NmNmNjAwNzg%3D

https://www.wattpad.com/user/strawberryjamsesh You’ve changed me, Arranged me in ways I could never have found on my own. The way that I’ve grown Since you came to me, Stars in your eyes, Sparking my wonder I wonder What I would have been Without you. I’m a fool, But only for you, Does that make me a fool? You are fuel to my fire And the flames are so cruel. You rewire My brain and my heart, Inspire my art, An indispensable part Of my story, Start, middle, and end; You’re around every bend, Casually waiting For me, Your worn-through friend.

After years of facing abuse, threat and violence, Firoz, a 25 year old Afghani finally finds a companion. But will the circumstances be in favor of their union in a war ravaged country? The story subtly explores and highlights the plight of human living in an unstable country and environment, and focuses on the consequences if hate wins. https://instagram.com/mahaasghar99?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y%3D It was after a long time that Firoz had come across a beauty in a Bazaar in Afghanistan. The absence of a feminine presence was too strong in his life. Being sold from one market to next by men he never knew to men he expected nothing from, had been his life before her. That one sight of her was enough to push him to rebel against the 'norm' of his life. A norm he shared with so few. He rebelled. Escaped the shackles of tormentors. Escaped the burden of entertaining men who could kill him anytime, anywhere, and anyways. Finally, they married. However, it was nothing like what he had imagined it to be. The storms had just befallen and the tide had just turned against them. Two years into their marriage, he could hardly make ends meet with what little he was paid working secretly at a healthcare facility in a remote village in the suburbs of Kabul. It was in a small house belonging to an old man and woman, abandoned by their kids who had immigrated, that Firoz and his wife lodged. While Firoz worked at the healthcare facility, she looked after the old couple who remitted their rent in exchange. Days passed and both struggled to hold it together. Life, despite the struggle, felt beautiful to both. Until one day, she figured that she was expecting a child. Those 9 months were hard for her. For him too. As those who he had escaped looked for him. There was no moment of the day that he left her and no second of the night that he closed his eyes. Finally, the time came when she had to deliver. With no health unit near to where they lived now, no midwives available and no women to help, she screamed and groaned in pain. He felt absolutely helpless. Finally, he was reported of a paramedic in that area, which he quickly called to aid them. The paramedic, a 30 year old women, switfly arrived on the scene. Three hours following the paramedic's arrival, the woman was no more. The baby was there. But she was not. He had lost her. He had lost his life. His reason to breathe and live. Through the next 15 days, as the threat of him getting caught by his enemies grew, he plotted to leave for Pakistan. Then, he left. With a child in his hands and almost nothing of what little he owned. He left. He left what he once called his home. Where he once lived with his greatest companion, trustee and above all his love. He left the country that gave him his worst nightmares, for what he had endured in his childhood and his sweetest dreams, of what he had little but felt plenty, at the same time. Today, 10 years after his arrival to Pakistan, he sat in his art room, one which Junaid had gifted him. His friend, without whom he might still of been stuck in those gloomy and drab refugees camps. For 10 years, he had refused to let her memories perturb him, batteling them with his mind with every ounce of his will. For 10 years, he had not let his hands paint her beautiful face. For if he had let his mind wander to her, he would've gone insane. Her absence would've driven him crazy. He would've lost the last thing he had left-his life which now resided in his daughter. As he sat in silence in front of the canvas, he felt a tug at his heart, so distinct that he felt like it could've caused his breath to stop. There was absolutely nothing he could think of at the moment- except of her. So he finally raised his brush, and let his mind be open to her thought, her beautiful face that he could visualize better than all the traumatic experiences of his childhood. He finally raised his brush to draw her. To draw, Sanober.

Through this painting, I have challenged the very idea of beauty standards by painting everyday makeup and skincare objects in an intense level of saturation, making the viewer feel uneasy and the objects unwanted for.

“Do you love him?” The question rang in my ears. It was a delicate question, a complicated one. Love wasn’t simple. I knew that it could bring joy, satisfaction, and laughter. Not for me, however. Love had only brought me loss. I carefully reached for some sugar across the old coffee table as the gears in my mind churned. I had fallen into what could really only be considered love with every guy that I had ever been with. My best friend, Ana, didn’t really believe this. She didn’t think that it was possible for one person to love that much. For some reason, I did. I used to love like it was my dying breath. I had love leaking out of my pores, and flowing through my veins. I was completely, utterly, irreversibly consumed by the emotion. The gears in my mind came to a halt. “Well, define love,” I asked. Ana gaped at me. “Uh, Olive? You’re literally the last person who should be asking that,” she responded, pouring an exorbitant amount of fat-free sweetener into her homemade cappuccino. I smiled, and meticulously stirred some sugar into my own dark roast. She was right. Love used to be simple for me. My natural affinity for it drew many people in. Particularly, men. The lips of my past partners had stuck to me like leeches, carelessly sucking away at the adoration I offered. Some were more akin to parasites, gnawing away at my insides until they got bored, eventually finding a way out. Every last bit of love was drained from me until I was left with nothing. “You already know how I feel,” I said, taking a nibble of a carrot muffin. Ana’s hazel eyes flickered downwards. “Right. Sorry.” I had no love left to give, but that hadn’t deterred me from entering new relationships; I just had no means of keeping them going. Until I met him. The one Ana was asking me about. “Well, is it anywhere close to love?” He told me that he loved me. He told me that he’d never cared for someone as deeply as he cared for me. It felt like I was free again; like I could finally love without the inevitable pain that seemed to sneak up behind me, and stab me in the back. I was his everything. He made me laugh, he made me smile—he did everything right, except… “I think that it used to be pretty close.” The words “close to love” danced around the front of my mind. When I met him, it felt as if my luck had finally turned. A piece of me glowed around him, and he reignited my ability to appreciate love again. Except ruined everything. It ruined me. It ruined my life. Except what? What could have possibly destroyed all those intense feelings? Except the assault. “You know, sometimes I just feel like you have trouble accepting things.” Ana’s voice was barely a whisper. She tends to get quiet when she’s worried about me. I’d never really had a problem with accepting things. In fact, I was actually pretty good at it. I held the ability to keep moving, and to try and learn as new experiences came my way. But, I had a very hard time accepting this. Accepting what happened to me. What he did to me. How he violated me, along with every single possible boundary that I had set. I took another bite, feeling the nutmeg and cinnamon mixing with my saliva. Ana always made excellent muffins. The nutty aftertaste lingered long enough to suppress the harsh bile rising in my throat. “I don’t really know about that,” I replied. He played me like I was an elaborate game of chess, planning every move, and every phrase. He spun an intricate web of apologies and lies. He calculated the way his hands would roam my body, well-aware of the fact that he would never face a single consequence. “Don’t you ever feel stuck, Olive?” My gears struck a cog. She had caught me there. The lack of acceptance had opposed my innate ability to move on. Instead, I was stuck in a timeless, never-ending loop. I spent everyday reliving how each piece of my body, my life, my soul, and my love had all been stripped away. “I guess sometimes, but honestly? I’m used to it.” I didn’t have a complete answer for her, but I suppose that's answer enough anyway. Ana thoughtfully sipped some vanilla foam from the top of her drink. “Are you sure you don’t love him?” I glanced at myself in the bay window, observing a blurry image of who I used to be. I watched my hands wander up to my collarbone, and felt my chest sting as my fingernails traced the hidden black and purple reminders that stained my chest. Then I said the words that had become my reality ever since that day. “I don’t think that I’ll ever love again.”

We are all connected through a flow of life. https://www.instagram.com/p/CdgT9BtMopK?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y%3D

One winter night he flew through your window, a winged stranger that would change each one after that. https://www.instagram.com/dejectedduplicate/ It was the dead of a winter night when I heard him break into my room. A trail of feathers circles around the bedroom floor, like he called this house his own. There he goes, staring into my soul with those ominous eyes as if he could anticipate my next move moments before I made them. Look at it tilt its stupid head, attempting to play the innocent bystander to the mess that it made. I muttered curses under my breath as I unlocked the window, pointing out to the night sky and gesturing to the stary bird like it was an unsolicited stranger. He hopped over to the windowsill and spread its majestic brown wings, and readied its little talons before it flew. "Let me show you what it means to be alive" were his parting words, before he dashed off under the guise of the night. And I'll admit it with every fiber of my being- I was jealous. I admired every quality he had that I knew was not mine. I begged to be picked up by the calm breeze off my feet. I wished to take dips and dives without a single fear in the world. I desired to 'hoot' and 'squawk' away to my heart's desire. I adored his wings that let him reach every corner of the world. He was a marvel to admire as he swooped all around the night sky, not an ounce of worry in its furry gray body. He coursed threw the horizon like it might have been his last. I wanted to be him. I wanted to live life in its truest form; the beauty of living is that it exists. To be alive is to just live. So ordinary, so basic, so straightforward. It's so idiotically simple that a barn owl got to it before me. For now, he knew its purpose. And yet I never got to thank him for finding mine.

This is a poem about the first school dance that happened at my high school after lockdown. Everyone was so glad to be able to be together and celebrate again that no one held back. I wanted this poem to capture that feeling of freedom and joy. At school you're often Stressed Tired Sad But here Here you're blooming again Like the roses that this ball is built around I'm losing my mind in this city of roses You seem more alive here Like someone finally let loose the fire in your soul Swirling your sparkling skirts on the dance floor, I can almost see the worries leave your weary shoulders The way steam rises off coffee Your eyes glow gold and brown More stimulating coffee for those around you Though no one needs it We've all had our sparkling cider And the energy from our dancing, Withheld so long by Covid, Is enough to power the whole wide world

Her eyes are glimmering chunks of caramel, Set in a swirling sea of milky brown Each amber segment brings more memories, fossils preserved from long ago I see bright blue skies and melting chocolates Shared beneath one of the big trees in Overton Park I see rocky running trails heaving small sighs of dust, as first one of her feet hits the ground and then the other While she speeds ahead of me I hear “Come on! Just a half mile left” I feel my legs go numb from the exertion of the previous nine miles And the chilly spring air, But still I press on, firmly resolved not to give up until she does. I feel her hands gripping my shoulders When I carry her in my arms at her graduation party. I remember her every time I run, how the soothing smell of her deodorant would waft back to me on the breeze, the thousand jokes and joys and laughter and little flirtations That we shared and I count down the days until she gets home from college. And I wonder at what might have been and what could still be.

Have you ever looked up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, and asked yourself where you stand in the universe? This poem was inspired by such an experience of mine. While we are as insignificant as an atom in our own bodies, and our actions may not be remembered years down the road, what we feel and how we make others feel in our brief time on earth makes a tremendous impact, and I think that is the beauty of life. They say every atom in our bodies was once a star. We’re a universe, within a universe. Encapsulated in a multitudinous sea of worlds, Too many stories, Too many people, Too many possibilities out of reach. How small we are. If you ask me, the secrets of the universe don’t lie in ancient scrolls, inscribed on faraway planets or buried beneath treacherous seas. They’re hidden in the turns and twists of the DNA ladder. And in this cosmos, we are but the atom. And in some convoluted way, that makes us the answer to it all. There’s a power in a belief, in a dream. A kind of power that knows no bounds, running rampant across the woods, over each creek and crevice, until every last leaf sears in the heat, the forest alight with fire; Blazing, burning, bristling. There’s power in quiet, in love. Not always eternal, not always ablaze with the heat of adrenaline. Yet, the universe always feels it. Even for the briefest of seconds, when two worlds collide, and the atoms bind. There’s power in the atoms, this much is clear. We break, we burst, we brusque. And the universe knows. She was here long before us, and she will stay long after us, Sealing and shattering, Crashing and curing. And here we lay, within her, So small yet so powerful. I guess that’s what they mean when they say, every atom in our bodies was once a star.