"pakistan international ki parwaaz..." and the voice of the female announcer fades into the salty sounds of karachi airport. . i wanted to wear a shalwar kameez, but ive packed them all away and the only ones left are more fit to be worn to a shadi . i will get there i.a. i remember landing here the first time, praying furiously as our plane "landed". please let everything work out. this is exactly what i prayed for a few days later.. to go back one day. aaj bohot kuchh feel ho raha hai. i am not good with pressure. i hope the luggage goes through alright. i hope it all works out again. this is it. now what happens my friend...?

my blog is so rotu...i re-read a couple of posts and i was like, hein? crying complaining and moaning thats what its all about.
i am returning to my friends, family, my mummy's arms, my moon, my night, my streets, my people, my Karachi. I am happy.

alot of lasts have happened this week. The last time I walk as an emlpoyee into the office building, the last time i eat at the cafeteria, the last time i work out at the gym, the last time i hug C, the last time i feel sad about never seeing S again, the tears in her eyes apparent, mine struggling with relative success to not roll down my cheeks. They were all lovely people to work with. I never ever thought I would feel like crying at leaving work. But it is the people i am sad to part from. i have never worked with goras this closely before and it has been great. i was lucky and bloody fortunate to get this experience. they gave me "the nicest person" certificate.i am so proud for not breaking down...i dont want to praise myself - this is not why i am writing this. i feel full- full of love and emotion and gratitude for these lovely people who appreciated me for who i am. for treating me so nicely even though i worked for such a short time. to c for her "how are you today b?" and to the duo c and c for being like my mothers - they said if they were to have a kid together, it would turn out to be like me. i will never forget j's cutesy laugh or s's hearty one. to the pakistanis - they created space for themselves in the office - as if sitting on a side road in karachi, we gobbled pakoras and samosas and chatted in urdu. right in the middle of the office. i will cherish this experience. i will never forget these people. it never does end up feeling the way its expected to. and thats all good.

DAWN front page:

Mukhtaran on ECL
By Our Staff Reporter
LAHORE, June 10: The interior ministry has placed Mukhtaran Mai’s name on the Exit Control List (ECL).Sources in the ministry told Dawn on Friday that Mukhtaran Mai had been scheduled to leave for London in a day or two on an invitation from the Amnesty International.“Her name has been placed on the ECL with a directive to the Federal Investigation Agency to ensure compliance,” an officer of the FIA said.The official said the government had taken the decision on reports that her visit could ‘tarnish’ the image of the country abroad.

yes it could tarnish the image because of a little thing called "truth"

so many times i sat typing here, crying for the streets of karachi...missing home...thinking about my family. today , for the first time, i am sad about toronto. i am holding the tears....because i think im being overdramatic. i wanted this . i cannot cry now that i have it. because what does that mean - that i want to stay....? i know i dont want that. but then am i deliriously happy to return home? i find myself hesitating to say yes...because home can be a relative term when you leave home to build a home elsewhere and spend 4 crucial years doing just that. then returnto your original home. will i go there and think about these toronto nights as i think about the karachi moon here? the subway, the trips to the library, university, work, walks, the clear air, the lush green area behind our building, the energy of yonge and bloor, the theatre, the bus....will i miss it? it is work the gamble is it not?

slowly the signs of our toronto life in this apartment are vanishing. the bedside in which i kept my diary where i scribbled furiously after yet another fight is gone. The candle stands i hand carried from karachi are sold. for a paltry price. i cannot take these things back. these lifeless things that tell the tale of my 4 year sojourn in this country. i feel the sorrow now . the sorrow i knew i wouldnt feel. but we are human after all. and this place changed me forever. how hard will it be?
packing up a life is so difficult. the notes i had saved from my sociology class...to keep or not to keep? is that more important or is that frame which held our wedding picture for 4 years more important.
As I smelt the dollar store potpourri I had bought nearly 4 years ago, i was surprised to find it still has some scent. i didnt throw it yet. but i know i will have to. just like i will have to go away like ive wanted to for four years. you never know when that oopar wala is listening.....your wished just may come true and then you realize....is this it?