Poetry: [The Year of Fathers]

[The Year of Fathers]

In a house protected by fathers   & not with their absences 
You would know    what not to call me
There were three of us   a daughter a father a chandelier
Each assigned with a wrong title  a Noor a Body a Light
The problem with history was that    I never lived it

                                   Welcome to the year of fathers

The thing about history is   its family name is past
The thing about past is   its family name is karma
The thing about karma is   its family name is it-returns
[The Year of Fathers] is a personal prophecy; not an announcement, only an acknowledgment. It explores a daughter's relationship with history and fathers in the family, only to understand more about how the threads of time, forgiveness, and histories intertwine. 

It's the second poetry piece I have written in 2018. The start of this new year has been hectic, full of unexpected energies, traveling, and fantastic work projects. There was little time to be home and focus on the tender process of creating an artwork. But now that things have slowed down, I am writing again. 
I got a new laptop, the one I had always wanted to get. It's a beautiful MacBook Pro 2017. With it, comes a responsibility of getting work done, which includes reviving this blog, reading poetry from both classical and contemporary poets, and of course, writing with a capital W

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Kawaii Box: review + giveaway

I was introduced to the term "kawaii" from a friend who came from the Philippines. Growing up, we were too invested in this term that it affected our lifestyles to an extent where half of the things in our lives reflected it vividly. From wardrobe to stationery, something had to be kawaii.
According to Wikipedia, Kawaii is the culture of cuteness in Japan. It can refer to items, humans, and nonhumans that are charming, vulnerable, shy and childlike. This term, however, has gone way past this sole definition and now stands with a solid identity of an industry.
I stepped out of my kawaii phase by the end of 8th grade, but the habit of acquiring kawaii products never did.

Kawaii Box sent me one of their fantastic boxes last month that I couldn't unbox, given it was the wedding season here in Pakistan and for one, I had to go to Islamabad. But here we are, let's unbox one of the kawaii-est subscription boxes I have ever known.
My box included 8 archetypal kawaii items—mostly stationary. I have had one box before and so did some of my friends. We had to agree that this box included more practical items than previous boxes, products we could use on a daily basis.

I gave away this adorable white plush to my little cousin, who had been eyeing it ever since we opened the box. While the duo of pen and pocket-sized notebook remained as my top favorite products.
The pack of snacks that came with the box didn't have a Halal tag on it. The representatives from KB have previously acknowledged that they are not sure if the snacks are halal or not. I didn't eat the candies that were in the box.
What I love the most about Kawaii Box is the quality of their products at a very reasonable price. The feeling of getting the most out of your money, that too wrapped in the mystery that a subscription box holds, is absolutely wonderful.
Check out their website for more info on ordering or sending as a gift. It costs about $20 per month. But if you are subscribed to a 6 or 12 months plan, it would cost $18/month.

For one lucky reader, Kawaii Box team & I have teamed up to bring a giveaway. You can win a box, just enter via the widget below.

Noor's Place Kawaii Box Giveaway
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Poetry: [Omens in the History of My Family]

[Omens in the History of My Family]

Spilled salt on a tired marble
floor was a bad omen in our 
household protected
by the pleads of women in the language of 
God. I was running out of luck but
forgot to say Astaghfirullah at the
sight of the ashen luck of salt. To be young 
was to have the privilege of denial. My mother

fed every uninvited crow sitting 
on the walls of her house
to secure her floating daughters’ fates. My
late grandmother wouldn’t let

milk escape its pan when boiling
to keep her falling family prosper. Our mothers 
learned to fight the unseen. Their battle of faith 
wasn't to redeem a victory; only for the safety of 
what meant the most. 
I flinch at every sight of crows 
assuming they’d peck at my luck if they’re hungry 
and never put the milk on raging stoves
in case they burned what is left of my family along. 
In our separate battles, they tried saving 
and I tried being saved. To be young was to
have the privilege of a flourishing

This piece is inspired by the faith of Pakistani Muslim women who, superstitiously, believe in omens—in order to protect their loved one. I only wrote it to channel my own perplexed emotions that hardly agree with their ideologies, yet we are aware how they still thrive somewhere in my personal values.

Collage photo from Harper's Bazaar Feb ‘17 issue.

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