i remember the dead in the office when a coworker walks past me. i recognize their perfume. i remember the dead when i see flowers, they die only when we choose to gift them. i remember the dead when i read Quran. i remember the dead when i touch my keyboard, oh its been so long since i’ve written. too long. forgive me.

my grandpa has always looked older and strong. he is taller than us. gifted with a white beard and even whiter veneers. his grip is strong and his deen even stronger. i’ll never forget when he asked me to garden with him and i was sweating, huffing and puffing, exhausted and he turned around to look at me and laughed. how is he so strong? i thought. im sure its the hundreds of remedies and herbs he keeps around him like an apothecary; which keeps my mom constantly cleaning. My grandpa survived cancer, malaria, dengue fever, necrotizing fasciitis, running away at 12 years old, and basically everything under the sun. we all know he is a mountain. A mountain with rough edges showing how even the softness of rain can leave an impression. That the gentleness of nature does not cower to even the toughest of rock. The years he has lived are written all over his face. the bruises from the hospital that will probably never fade. The long hairs on his ears that i trimmed in the summer sun. The tremor in his hands that show the weight of his duas when he talks to Allah. My grandpa has always been old, he has always been strong.

this morning i walked into his room and for the first time in my life, my grandpa looked like a child. a weeping child curled in his bed wearing the pink blanket my sisters and i grew up using. his tears, like rain, running down his face. i stood at the door and looked at him. i tilted my head to the left a bit and continued to look a second longer. “oh Nanu” i said. He looked back at me, and began to sob. I walked over to the other side and laid beside him caressing his head. How can i bring him any comfort? His daughter passed away yesterday.

**

the sound of grief is one of Whats App facetime calls and your phone buzzing. maybe fighting with your sister for no reason. crying to your neighbors. waiting all day to be comforted by your fiancé. the silence of acceptance. the sound of my grandma handing my grandpa eggs. me washing the dishes even though my grandma told me not to. the sound of my grandpa weeping as he saw his daughters face for the last time through an iphone screen. the sound of grief is a contradiction. it leaves you feeling hollow with an immense weight placed upon you. Enough weight to crumble a mountain. Enough weight to turn a man into a child.

**

I have a strained relationship with my father. But i love him, and i will always love him. I have spent the greater half of my life massaging his feet and every time he turns around in bed and strains his back he says “Ammi.” Which means mom in urdu. How can the love of one person be so strong that their name becomes an expression. When i get scared i don’t scream, i too yell “Ammi.” We all have a mother and father. we all come from somewhere.

Someones Ammi left. someones daughter. someones friend, aunt, grandma. death is always tricky. im not sure what to make of it.

death does not confuse me. maybe the way it arrives and who is chooses confuses me, but i accept we must all come to our end. but grief on the other hand, is a storm. A storm where you dont get to see the rainbow in this life but only in the afterlife. the silence felt between breaths. grief is the waiting room of this life. the passing period. the curve between highway exits. its undeniable. it must be walked through. it doesn’t ask permission and it doesn’t make any sense. but its existence will stay and sometimes grief will never go away.

**

i have been an emotional person my entire life. it always felt to a fault. the weight of my feelings has always burdened me. im grateful i have found a person to carry it with me. my fiance holds every part of me and he reminds me my depth is something he is lucky to swim in. every tear of mine meets the softness of his fingers.

but i always find myself to be the only one not crying in a room of crying people. funerals and such. i just cant produce the tears. im not shy of crying in front of others. just ask my fiance haha. but when those around me are in pain, im not sure. i feel the need to observe and help where i can. ill only cry under one circumstance, if my little sister Aleena cries. Aleena is perhaps one of the most emotionally secured (sometimes stunted) person i know. so seeing her shell crack is the instant all of my walls come crumbling down.

**

i cant imagine how my grandpa feels. how my aunts kids feel. it was a hard passing. a slow one. a painful one. only god knows best. we plan but he plans and he knows what we do not.

**

i’m ignoring all of my messages and instagram dms. i love everyone for caring. thank you for your sweet messages. i promise to get to you when i can.

**

my mom is in Pakistan. when she cries or flies on a plane her face puffs up. she’s a puffer fish in a hijab. i miss her. theres chocolate cake in the fridge but thats about it. do we all correlate our moms with food? the ones who take care of us. the only person whos heart you can break but they’ll never stop loving you. oh i wish to give my mother the world. Ya Allah grant me the time to do so, in this world. Ameen.

i’m not sure. i am sad. i accept Allahs plan. all i can do is hold my grandparents hands until it hits 5pm and everyones home. the house is quiet. the cicadas are dancing on the trees and i still haven’t brushed my teeth. i have orders to make from my art store and my lips are dry and flakey. i guess this is life.

If you can make a prayer for my aunt and all those she left behind. may the weight of grief be felt with more ease. may my aunts grave be filled with light. Ameen.

all my love,

bk.

my eyes are focused on the road but nothing in particular. just go straight, two lefts and a right. my cup holder illuminated by Google Maps on silent. I go to the gym almost 5 days a week, I have the way memorized but I still have the navigation on just in case a new road magically appears or I get lost somehow…? I learned many train rides ago not to question the ways I am directionally challenged.

the street lights start to blur. “oh, it’s raining,” I think to myself. one car passes, and then another. I notice it’s not raining, the road is not reflecting any light like a painting, I am crying. My blurry eyes dart to my dashboard, “Thompkins Square Park” is playing on Spotify. Thompkins Square Park.

The truth delayed is the truth diluted. real honesty is a risk, and that’s where honorability lies. When the truth is convenient, it is manipulative.

there’s a line in the song:

I only ever told you one lie
When it could have been a thousand
It might as well have been a thousand

and it stuck with me. the truth will set you free, a very common saying. but I think we forget the opposite, how lying is a self-made cage. I’m not sure. I think I hate people that lie. I notice I sometimes become afraid that I’ll lie or withhold information. not because I want to, I rarely do, but I’m afraid because it’s something I was exposed to, in such a strong degree, it’s what I know now. “lying” is no longer an idea of what I shouldn’t do, it was presented as someone’s embodiment. it was a thousand lies, the biggest lies being the ones we tell ourselves.

some people have a corrupted moral compass. their perceptions are just catered to themselves, empathy is a poor man’s game, and we are all interested in getting rich. Betrayal is common, it’s my generation’s bread and butter in the form of cheating in relationships. it’s NOT normal to betray the one person you love the most. this is an overlooked character flaw.

i am not perfect. i have many flaws. but, i try to be honest with myself.

i just believe in the truth. i believe in its freedom. I’m passionate about it. it’s hard. it’s uncomfortable, but it’s a choice. you choose to express what may be hard to hear. there’s no cowardice in the eyes of truth. you bring every shadow into the light.

i think someone once told me that “manipulation” is a buzzword, so I scoured my lexicon for a better word in fear of sounding like a TikTok therapist, but that was a LIE! people are manipulative, whether it’s weaponized incompetence or not, I don’t care, I’m not your mom. but it’s true. when you lie, you take everyone’s choices away. no one gets to know, to perceive, to be.

but the thing is, guys, yeah lying is bad blah blah. we get it. but don’t you guys understand that it’s not the audience that will bear it on their soul, it’s you. it’s YOU. a liar is the only loser in this game. God said it best, you’re wronging your own soul.

anyways. i don’t listen to music anymore. i drive in silence. and i am still 23 years old.

until next time,

-B.

And you feel like a summer breeze I thought had left me in my childhood

Something old but something new.

The water calls to me because of its harmony. Each wave impacts the next. Water never ripples alone.

I realize now, perhaps every single wave in my life led me to you. Every storm and thundering night changed my course to ultimately head your way.

A cool summer breeze touches my cheek and it feels as if the cruelty of my childhood makes sense now.

Be soft in a cold world. Be soft in a cold world.

I didn’t know my tenacious love would lead me to you. The wave that wouldn’t let me ripple alone. A breeze that reminds me of the joy of my childhood.

When I look into your eyes I realize that you’ve always been there.

Perhaps I spent my life planting seeds in soil that was not mine. Perhaps I spent my life trying to find a garden to blossom in but God had other plans. I had to look back to realize I had been moving in one direction this whole time, towards you.

My garden was right behind my house. Not to my right or my left, but always in my rear view.

I love the sky because it is always there and to admire the beauty of something that is constantly present requires one thing, the ability to notice. The ability to care.

I feel lucky to be an admirer of the sky. A miracle that has become one big blue mundane phenomenon in many lives. But for me? Each day I wait to witness the sky, Gods best painting. You’re lucky if u can love what’s always present, scarcity doesn’t always equate to love being special. In fact to me, it’s special because it’s always there.

I notice. I care. To me you feel like the sky. Always there and now you’re here for me to notice. And I notice. I care.

And I will continue caring.

All my love,

bkhan.

***

this entry feels long awaited, i kept writing this in my head over the past 2 weeks. it felt like each day i was trying to find the hidden ink in the pockets of my mind so i could come to you prepared my dear reader, a full pen in hand.

i walked 6 miles the other day. to those that know me, this is a BIG deal. in the past, a 12 minute walk seemed excruciating. now i’m walking, no headphones, just straight pondering.

my best friend is in Afghanistan right now. the time difference means we cant text 24/7. sometimes the only text we send is “i love you” at random parts of our day each text sent 12 hours apart. i feel like its our way of saying “i thought of you all day even when we aren’t talking.” a sentiment i share with many i think.

but by some chance i was on mile 4 and she picked up. i admired the pollen falling like snow and i cried on the phone call. happy tears. “i lived to tell the tale” i told her through the phone. i lived to tell the tale.

life is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo weird. a lot of it confuses me so i guess i can focus on what i do know. i know i am better, dare i say i am good? ofc i will most likely fall into a deep deep despair when i get on my period but that’s a future me battle. the past couple weeks have been good. i feel like i finally see the horizon, the clouds have parted and the storm is far enough where i can see it behind me, not in-front of me.

i’m trying really hard to be committed to myself. and sure 6 miles is a great accomplishment but i had to start really small. small enough where i was searching for a reason to get out of bed and the only one i could come up with “if i don’t get up now moms gonna get mad” and that was the most i could do that whole day. yes i tried my best to maintain my 5 prayers and Quran, but i never wanted to leave my bed. i felt alone, i still do but now i chose to be alone in some way. i think. idk.

my thoughts are all over the place but thats regular fr

what’s the reputation i give myself? what reputation do you give yourself?

“Bushra people think of you and they think of art, i want people to think of me that way” a friend said to me the other day. it stuck with me.

i represent my art with great pride, this is who i am. this is what Allah made me, an artist.

but what else is part of my reputation? people always tell me i love deeply, more than what they’ve seen in commonfolk.

i drive now (lets not discuss how long it took me to get my license) anyways chile

i drive now and i spend a lot of time in my car just thinking and thinking. i went to my cousins house last night, none of my sisters were with me, it was just me and when it came time to head home i just sat in my cousins basement and was chillin. i knew i had to go home but i was in no rush, just straight chillin. and i realized because my sister yumnah always drove us everywhere there was a sense of urgency. she doesn’t wait for the song to finish before we exit the car and when its time to leave, its time to leave. but me? im the complete opposite. and now i have something on wheels that invites an infinite time to just sit by myself. and girl do i sit. man oh man.

what is going on? i think im sad? i say i think cuz sometimes im so damn happy and im like yeah this is what life is all about. but i can say with confidence the sadness i feel right now is not drowning me. i can swim in it and always keep my head above the surface. and thats a good thing right? it is. i know it is. i survived the hard part now its just about having tawakkul and continuing. but “continuing” itself sometimes gets hard.

ill be having a great day. ill be on a long drive and the sun is out, the ac is cold and i make sure to keep my eyes on the green light because if there’s anyone who would drive thru a red unnoticed, its me. and then i remember something from years ago. a moment in time that stitched itself to my heart and i realize im still carrying it with me all this time and that hurts me. i wish reader i could hold your hand as i tell you this because it feels like that would be the only way you could feel the sorrow in my eyes.

i want to be strong. im trying to find the balance between acknowledging my pain and still growing from it. but i think i just couldn’t do both yk. i went straight to growing. i picked myself up because i think i carried a lot of shame for being hurt in the first place. and i still live with my shame. which is something i only realize when a friend tells me “what you went thru was hard, its okay to be sad.” because my subconscious needs to be validated that damn i lowkey went thru some bad shi.

i think i also didn’t want God to be mad at me and the best way to stay in his good graces was to do better. i know i sometimes view my relationship with God as black and white and its not like that. But, all of the sudden it just became about being better in every way. don’t be depressed make sure u get out of bed. remember the good things in life. read more Quran. learn about Islam. less music. no gossiping. now we will focus on handling my pcos. and go to the dentist. and eat healthier. and not fight with your dad. and focus on your art. post your art. art and more art. oh you cant find a job? not only did u waste 4 years in undergrad but now you cant even use ur useless degree! but hey keep applying because a rejection email is the most regular thing now. all you could do is try and leave the rest to god. oh but your sad? you dont trust god? you have a roof over ur head and you have the gall to be sad? and now cook more chicken because you need an absurd amount of protein for your pcos and ignore it when you keep getting reminded of your weight by random people! and keep trying everything all the time all at once.

and none of these are bad things, in fact im proud i am trying to do all this.

but sometimes ill be driving and it almost feels like the wind changes direction and decides its time to mock me and im reminded of the past. i dont miss it, i think maybe i miss the woman i was? i miss the way my heart just felt lighter. and quite frankly i feel bad for myself. why do i feel so much shame in admitting that? why cant i just be.

if i feel bad for myself i feel like im being ungrateful and i dont want god to think im ungrateful. so i keep it pushing. i dont cry. i read my quran and my prayers and try to wear my hijab tighter and i try to have taqwa.

i think the emotion i feel is shame. and i feel shameful for even feeling shame because no one is making me feel that way, just myself. i dont know what to do honestly. there’s nothing i can do except make it to the next day. and its weird, at least now im enjoying my life yk. if you see me smiling know that my smile IS genuine and that im not faking it thru the pain. but i also carry my pain with me. are other people like that? idk man.

emphasis on the idk what to do yk. im deadass just trying to do what i know and thats majority action based. i work out. i cook my rubber chicken TYPE SHI. i try to increase my knowledge of islam and now i even try to wake up earlier (the world is ending). and i know in the long run these actions will and are helping me emotionally. emotional healing doesn’t have to be just internal yk. but sometimes ill get sad and i realize oml i am gonna have to just deal with this. no one is going to come into my life and open up my brain and take a chunk of my memories away. and i wish they would. this all feels like a stain on my soul and it makes me miss who i was. 19 years old. nothing was the same after. im mourning who i was and i feel shame for it.

damn. that is exactly it. i am mourning who i was an i feel shame for it. i blame myself for everything. i should’ve been smarter. i should’ve been a better muslim. no excuses. as i type this i realize ive become what i hate the most, a firm unforgiving person. i have a reputation for loving so deeply yet at every damn turn im being a piece of shit to myself. yay!

im grateful to be surrounded by loving people. people that make dua for me. people that remind me to not eat a sugary cookie. and people that acknowledge what i went through. so i feel so ungrateful for saying i feel lonely. its dumb but i think i just want to be held. i am incapable of holding myself without blaming myself so i think i wish someone could do that for me. and sometimes when i think someone’s capable of holding my hand they leave or its the wrong time and thats okay. its no ones responsibility and i know Gods going to make sure im alone so i lean on him and only him.

its sucks to admit but i want to turn cold. i want to not write and i want to just not care. my whole life i was confused by people who chose to be cold in a cold world and now i get it. it just is what is is and it makes me hate everything. and reader you probably read this and think damn shes depressed or insane or something and its funny because i am happy too. i have consistent good days. notice how i said the wind changes direction and THEN mocks me, nothing in my day starts bad or ends bad. its just little moments here and there.

maybe i feel like i can erase the pain of my past by changing who i am now.

bushra be less kind. bushra dont trust people you dont know who they are. bushra you know theyre gonna leave so dont try. bushra youre stupid and you see too much good in people so their betrayal is your fault. you shouldve seen it sooner.

chat shes lowkey evil LMAO

but its funny cuz i know ill never become this way and i think that pisses me off even more. i know ill continue to love people like its my last day on earth cuz it very well can be. i know i still trust people and will continue to do so. i cant change and i refuse to change because of some storm from my past. but the want is there. the acknowledgment of “this hurt me so bad it makes me want to change myself” exists. and that hurts me. i know im mean to myself. but i really do love myself. i love the type of person i am to other people, and knowing i went thru something that makes me want to change that, it makes me sad. i didn’t deserve that. i didnt deserve that.

i know someone will hold me someday inshAllah. and in the mean time i just have to keep doing what im doing. that’s truly all i can do. i just make so much dua it pays off.

im still living and if i feel shame for no reason, i should acknowledge i have a lot to be proud of myself for. and im here im living and i am telling my tale. i lived to tell the tale.

i know my lack of empathy towards myself hurts so much because im not like that to anyone else. im turning 23 and im tired of being so mean to myself. i admit it, i genuinely dont know how to stop. i feel like when people hear that they think im insecure. i am very far from feeling insecure, i am not burdened by others perception of me, i love being the center of attention but maybe its who i am behind the curtain? who i am when i am completely alone? there’s some disconnect happening within me. my whole life ive blamed myself for feeling deeply and at the same time i love how deeply i feel. the battle within me kills me. but i will continue to cook my rubber chicken. somedays are harder than others. other days aren’t hard at all. and i know i just have to continue, i have too much to lose if i stop now. i didnt go thru all that to just go thru it. my name is bushra khan and i am a work in progress. and i am the greatest master piece i will work on for the rest of my life. and its okay. i accept all of it. the good the bad. i accept all of it.

Do the trees know I’ve been admiring them since I was a young girl? Will Allah tell them one day? I think he will.

And he’ll tell the bee that landed on my hand on the first day of third grade that it's the same bee I put in my artworks; and that I’m sorry my teacher swatted it away.

Will Allah tell the giant tree in my front yard that everytime I admire the moon its leaves are in the frame? A shiloutte and god is the best artist.

My sisters went to grab bubble tea today. I knew I wasn’t going to buy anything because I’m on a diet (have to make my coach proud) but I joined them for the drive. Speakers blaring I opened the window, cold wind rushed to say hello and I greeted her gently.

I stared at the bare tree tops. Each tree higher than the last as if they were trying to reach god. Will we ever reach god? One day, ameen.

I stared at the tree tops and realized Allah decided how long each tree would grow. How high in the sky its branches would reach and how deep its roots would dig underground.

The wind caressed my cheek again, my turquoise hijab flapping and I exhaled. Allah loves the trees, surely he must love me. A carefully crafted khan.

“If my thoughts aren’t existential am I even living?” I thought at that very moment. I closed my window and let the world be. I smiled to myself. To be known is to be loved, and I know myself.

I realize through the passing of time, I don’t need to understand everything, I can notice it, admire it, and love it for however long.

Nothing belongs to me.

I am free. I am free I tell my friends. Is this what Allahs love is like? Freedom to love and let go in the same breath?

The seasons are changing. The leaves will grow and dance in the wind. But I know Allah will tell the trees I loved them when they were bare against the same cold wind that came to say hi to me many seasons ago.

In search of beauty, beauty finds me.

Allhamdullilah.

My dearest reader,

I don’t want to romanticize my heartache.

I feel like I’ve lost more than I was willing to let go. It’s hard on me. I’m trying to remember what I love and how it’s always Allahs creation. I’m mad all the time. But all I can do is try to smell the flowers as I drown in my sorrowful rage. Both sides of the coin.

Sometimes I fear life chips away at me. And as each piece leaves me, I am left bare. But I must remember bare trees still reach for Allah. And I will too.

I accept all of my seasons and right now it is the season of mourning.

Just gotta keep it pushin fr

With all my love,

Sincerely,

Bushra Khan.

did you know I find myself talking to you at times? I’ll go about my day and draft up a post in my head. It eventually gets lost in the many hallways of my mind, nonetheless you’ve got a room here. 2 bed 2 bath. purr

well reader I wanted to tell you I got my heart broken. but not just broken, feasted on and regurgitated. dragged through seven hells and back. think of the worst and double it and give it to the next person except that next person IS ME. LORD!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

idk man. don’t expect this entry to be cohesive. im here to express girl! and that don’t gotta make sense! no it make dollars (sorry terrible joke forgive me).

I sat in the car with my friend Afroditi the other day- yes I know I have a beautiful friend with a beautiful name (I pride myself on this fun fact). anyways we sat in my driveway and conversed. boba in hand, frank ocean playing.

we spoke of love and its allure. we cried, burdened by what also frees us, our ability to feel an oceans worth of love and pain. we laughed a sad laugh, reminiscing about the same moment we sat in the car talking about love except we had just graduated high school, freshly 17. but now we are 22 and 23. older, on the precipice of real world problems. jobs and life, some of the people we went to high school with are married and even have kids. we spoke in the car and I removed the sun roof cover thingy, incase the stars wanted to listen. as long as Afroditi is alive I know I am not alone. every depth i’ve ever swam, afraid to drown in my own feelings, afro has always swam with me. she feels her feelings just like I do. what a gift right?

if you don’t write about your friends like you are in love with them then what are you doing bro?

a funny little moment is that each time we would get done crying over some fact or story we would apologize “im sorry I keep talking about myself.” women are so funny bro.

anyways..

like what the FRICK bro? idk I think my heart broke in a way where everything was distilled to its simple existence, the noise ended yk. I was like OK I gotta lock in and remember how to STAY ALIVE. lmaoo, shi got real simple real quick. and right away i graduated. there was no next semester. everything changed wallah.

reader ill come here with some more wisdom. yk how ya girl gets when im in my bag fr. but for right I just wanted to leave myself a post as a reminder that even though the worst did happen I am still here, still writing, still living.

life is a garden. I will wait for the storm to pass. I know every flower will blossom.

in the mean time I shall build this cocoon around myself. cruelty in the name of love is always a tricky knot to undo. I think im sad. I am sad every single day and I know the sadness will find its home in the marrow of my bones but reader? what else am I to do? I lost a great love and a great love lost me. I will mourn. and when the time is right I will unravel myself. unlearn the legit TRAUMA. and reader I will fly again.

until then,

until then I will remind myself that this world is just a test. its just me and you for life bkhan. Allhamdullilah for everything.

until next time reader,

love Bushra.

ps. I have 82 subscribers and it actually makes me cry. idk why people subscribe to me and idk if anyone reads anything I write but it means so much to me <444

isn’t it weird we desperately want to be acknowledged by people we don’t know. I want strangers to love my work. I want strangers to connect with my art pieces and feel it in the depths of their soul. but my friends connect with my art the most. my family supports it the most. so why do we work for others attention? perhaps i’m wrong reader so let me speak for myself. why do I work for others attention?

any stage i’ve ever walked across, any award i’ve ever received I always felt empty returning to my seat if I didn’t recognize a face in the audience. who will know the true joy of my wins if I don’t share it with people who knew me before my accolades?

how can my audience know me from my paintings if they didn’t know me before I even picked up a canvas. but still, I crave that attention, an insatiable hunger.

recognition.

is it so bad? I ask myself that question everyday. the people in my life often remind me I see the world in grey until I stand in front of a mirror, its only black and white when it comes to the standards I have for myself. maybe its okay to have a bit of both? idk

recognition. I just want to make my art and I want to connect with others but I also need money. I don’t know why this topic sometimes makes me feel embrrassed. maybe because it wasn’t always like this yk? I didn’t always need money but I always needed and wanted art. sometimes it feels like i’m betraying the purity of my craft when I take money into account: creating for the sake of creating.

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I need it all man. I listen to women talk about how the world taught them to be “polite” and to not ask the world for things arms wide open but I am the opposite. I want it all and I want more. i’m happy where I am, but I want more too.

I want everyone who sees my art to see me as well. The way I have a small gap in my teeth when I smile, my mothers cheekbones and my fathers eyelashes. Are those not the colors on my canvas too? I need them to know me because then they won’t be strangers.

sometimes it feels like what I want in this life doesn’t exist here. that maybe I won’t have it all but I also remind myself I already have it all. the looks ;;) the passion, the love. the rest of the hunger its all just more, more candles on my cake and more chocolate chips in my cookie.

I don’t know. I just know someway somehow I will make it happen. and i’m waiting patiently.

my father once told me my dreams were one in a million and that I was not that one. I told him I am one in a billion. I know I can do this. its just a matter of time and maybe recognition will come along the way and I won’t feel terrible for enjoying it. I am a star after all.

my friend told me he wanted his art to be anonymous because he didn’t want people to support him only because of the fact that they knew him. I sat with his sentiment and I let it go. I want the opposite. I want to be known, like really known by those I love. they’ll take me far. so I can have both. I can be loved by those that have known me and I can be loved by those that have yet to know me.

I don’t know. I just know someway somehow I will make it happen. and i’m waiting patiently. I know Allah is always on my side, its all thanks to him.

…

(I read back to edit my many spelling errors. labeling emotions is important and understanding origins. I said I crave recognition but only because if my art got enough exposure, I wouldn't have to worry about money. id make money more easily yk? so I guess I just want people to care enough that it gives me stability)

anyways ill hit publish,

love,

bkhan.

I remember in my senior year of highschool I would go on walks with her all the time. We would run to the giant fountain near my house and watch the sunset. My little sister’s voice at that age was different. It was higher and her laugh was different. The only way I could describe it is the way you imagine an innocent child’s voice to be. Full of joy and hope and the hunger to explore. But the older I got I stopped going on walks. All I remember from those times is her begging to see the sunset and every time I said no. It still makes me cry the heaviest tears. I’ll never forget the times I said no.

So today when I took her to the park and I watched her admire the sky, I felt like I had healed a part of my past.

The other day my older sister called me at two am asking if I was awake. I came to her room and she told me she had a terrifying nightmare. I asked her if she wanted to sleep in my bed with me and she came. Three people in one bed (I share a bed with my little sister) and I was so uncomfortable. I had a terrible time. But I’ve had terrible dreams and having someone there is always the remedy. I remember when I was younger, my older sister, Yumnah and I shared a bed our entire lives and then we had our rooms when we were in college.

I don’t remember all of the details but one night my older sister told me she had a nightmare and she asked me to come into her room or she could come into mine (I don’t remember), regardless, I said no. I cried every time I thought about that for the following years. I couldn’t fathom what part of me felt right saying no to her when she was reaching out of fear due to a nightmare. So at 22 years of age when my sister told me she had a nightmare, I invited her to my room.

I’ve never told anyone that story.

I guess I love deeply that when I say yes, it doesn’t take much thought but the “no’s” imprint themselves and I can’t let those moments go.

But those are “no’s” from the past. As I get older I feel the extreme want to say no. No, I will not love you. No, I will not let you in. No, I will not show kindness. No, I will not give and give and give.

It hurts me to say no. But sometimes it hurts more to say yes.

I don’t need a yes in return. That’s not my issue here. I don’t need love back, I give it endlessly. But to get hurt in return? I’d rather cut the cord in the beginning with a simple “No”

I wrote in my diary. Angry words. Very angry words. I just don’t get it. How some people can be so cruel? It’s not my place to understand but I wish I got it. Maybe then I could justify it.

This writing doesn’t have a purpose, and that’s okay. I guess I just wanted to document the time in my life when I didn’t want to love as openly as I do. I don’t think I’ll ever stop, or else I’ll dwell on it for the next decade or two. And to those that think this is about them, it’s not. It’s about me. It is always about me.

(My writing is about me. Not EVERYTHING so don’t think I’m crazy haha)

With love, B.

I wrote that a couple of months ago^

when the weather was warm enough to go to the park. now it’s cold. I was talking to my friends yesterday about how every time winter comes, the dread makes me yearn for summer in a way that makes me feel like I’ve never experienced summer. and the joy of summer makes me feel like I’ve never felt a cold winter day. I think it’s weird how my feelings change the way I perceive things to be true/untrue. I know it’ll be summer again, and I i know ill step outside without a jacket, but right now why does it sometimes feel like I never will?

I guess that’s something I’ve been thinking of lately. my way of feeling. I feel like I drown in it and I start to lose my mind and honestly, I hate it. it feels weird to write down “hate” cuz in the past I loved how I felt so deeply. I know it changes often, but right now I hate it. I feel like I can’t contain it but I don’t know. it’s hard to put into words. I’ll try to put it into words.

I’m an artist. My perception of things is how I express myself, listening to my emotions means a lot to me. not only for the sake of my art but the life I want to live. but I see people who don’t see this as deeply as I do and I can’t help but think they feel free. they go on about their day and I hold onto things and ponder. too much of anything is bad. I guess a sane solution would be to feel less of other things whilst allowing myself to feel other things deeply. but I don’t want to. I just want to stop caring about everything so I can remain unfazed. I don’t like my own heart right now.

and maybe that is why I want to say no. I wish for it all to stop. and when I say stop, I don’t want the people I love to go away or anything like that, I just want my thoughts to go away. the overthinking and analyzing and the sensitivity of my entire human existence. so maybe I say no to other people cuz I can’t so no to my own heart? am I projecting? does any of this even make sense?

I don’t think anything I’m writing is making sense. I guess I never understood when people said “It’s not that deep” cuz to me it was always that deep and it still is. and I was proud to realize I am someone who sees things like that. but right now it feels like a burden. I just want to chill and keep my head on straight.

I always said “Everything matters” cuz I was always confronted with the idea that “nothing matters” and I can see that I feel the need to exist on opposite sides of the spectrum, when in truth I can exist in between. so maybe I’ll work on that cuz hating how I feel, when 'feeling is such a big part of me, is hatred too vast for me to hold

until next time,

B.

(sorry for all the grammatical errors oop ;;)

The pain in Palestine. The earthquakes in Afghanistan. Instagram post followed by the Instagram post. None of us know what to do. 

The only thing we can do is donate and make dua. I understand that God has a way of doing things that we cannot understand. But I know we all wonder what it all means. Perhaps heaven, perhaps everything all at once. I know there’s nothing I can do. But I thought I could make a post with prayers and offer ways we can help.

So that every person who reads this, a dua goes to Allah in our name.

I am also selling an art print, where 100% of the proceeds will go to Afghanistan and Palestine. I also have included verified donation links for Palestine and Afghanistan at the end. 

I do want to preface by saying there is no right or wrong way to make dua. but there can be better ways!

“Start out  by praising and admiring Allah SWT by mentioning his names and reflecting on their meaning

Sending Salaam upon the Prophet SAS

Thank Allah SWT for his blessing, reflecting on several examples in your life and expressing gratitude for them

Admit to making mistakes and your shortcomings and ask Allah SWT for forgiveness. Repent. Beg Allah SWT for His mercy and to be pardoned” more duas

—

Ya Allah, I pray for those who don’t have anyone praying for them. 

Ya Allah, I pray for those who have been forgotten. 

Ya Allah, I pray for those who have forgotten you. 

Ya Allah, I pray you take us only when you are happy with us

Ya Allah, I pray for my Muslim brothers and sisters all over this Dunya, may you grant them the highest level in Jannah

Oh ya Allah, there is so much pain in this world, ease it for everyone 

Ya Allah. give the people a day of peace and more

Ya Allah, I pray our test in this Dunya and the Ahkira is easy

Ya Allah, I pray all of our parents, may they see Jannah

Ya Allah, I pray for all of the children, keep cold the wind behind their eyes and keep them smiling

Ya Allah, forgive us for our past sins and our future sins

Ya Allah, never forget us even when we forget you

Ya Allah, give us a deen that makes us say Alhamdulillah in the face of adversity 

Ya Allah, help us complete our five daily prayers and more 

Ya Allah, we need you more than ever

Ya Allah, I pray for my ummah

Ya Allah, I pray for all of the Muslims in this world, ya Allah protect them

Ya Allah, it is you who loves to forgive so please forgive us

Ya Allah, none of us understand what is happening to people all over the world, but you know what we do not, ya Allah help the world see the truth and ease everyone’s pain

Ya Allah, bestow upon us the good the Prophet SAS would want us to have, and keep us away from harm he would not want us to have

Ya Allah, bring a window of Jannah to all Muslims who have passed and bring their families ease. 

Ya Allah we are nothing without you, please bring us to the right path. 

Ya Allah please guide us. Help all the Muslims in this world, help all humans.

—

End dua with Praising Allah SWT

Sending Salaam upon the Prophet SAS

more duas : A Link for more duas (a friend’s father wrote these duas before his passing so it counts as sadaqah jariyah) (Sadaqah Jariyah is when you send good deeds to someone who has passed away)

PCRF : Palestine Children Relief Fund

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I have been documenting my life in various diaries since age 12. I have two reasons.

1. I had this fear I was going to forget every important thing in my life, memories fade but full pages dont

2. I knew the world was going to write about me, so I made sure my future writers would have enough information

I am proud i knew that even at at a young age,

Since this is my first letter, i should introduce myself. I always have trouble answering this question (although I shall never show weakness).

I am a full-time artist and student (the horror). I have four beautiful sisters and my mom is my best friend and i get my will from my father. I go to school and buy donuts as i fail my accounting class. i am a star, even when there is no stage. i enjoy looking at the stars and making my friends laugh. i held in a lot of my emotions growing up, but i like to say i cry once a day now (don’t judge me, a lot of them are happy tears).

I guess i started this because i Khan (see what i did there)… but in all realness i have so much to share. so many questions and answers.

So here is my truth, Letter 01

My dream is to be an artist. not just any artist, but a visionary. and id like to say i am living my dream, but girl (or boy) lemme tell you it is not easy. day after day i sit and want to give up. WHEN WILL MY TIME COME?!

I know god is testing me.

my conviction, my patience. but it is hard. i remind myself of that Dave quote “When you feel like giving up, it means your dreams are close.” and i believe it. this greatness within me, it’s one door away. i can feel it. i am honing it. but it’s like when you wait for someone and you’re disappointed by every single person that walks through the door and it’s not them.

its funny yk, i speak highly of myself and I know others do too. i was talking to my bestie about this, I told him success always came to me, i demanded nothing less. My TikTok blew up, i gained 25k followers overnight. My YouTube was doing good. i was selling artwork for thousands of dollars. i was even skinny (insert dying emoji here)*

but what did i do when all of that success came? I ran. i didn’t post for months, i didn’t share new artwork for months. i was scared “What if i can’t do it again” and i guaranteed my failure by not trying, at least i wasn’t disappointed. In psychology, this is what we call a self-fulfilling prophecy.

but now? Oh girl is it different! I signed up for multiple art shows and got rejected “cuz my portfolio wasn’t cohesive enough” and i have so much to say about that but another time. i have been posting every day for a month and it’s working but not like how it used to. i make artwork every single night for ten+ hours and i haven’t made a sale in months.

this failure, its familiar to me. and that’s why when success comes, I won’t be scared.

I’m ready yk. I have so much to say, so the setbacks keep me steady. There’s NO WAY it won’t happen yk. and when it does i won’t run because it’ll be just like every other day. a day where i buy a chocolate sprinkle donut and put my head down and work.

recently i have been planning to sell a couple of things for Halloween. i know its haram to celebrate so lets just say i am selling spooky decor. recently i made these tiny finger ghosts.

I also decided to paint sushi because the colors inspired me. Don’t ask me about cohesion in my art, is there any cohesion in your life MR ART CURATOR?? that rejection still hurts me if you can’t tell but it’s okay, one day the Louvre is going to ask me for my work, InshAllah.

12 year old me knew it then and i know it now.

My name is Bushra Khan.

I am a visionary.

i guess the truth is I’m ready, like never before. when my high school yearbook gave me a page dedicated to me (cuz i was the first Muslim homecoming queen.. subtle flex*) i wrote at the end of the page, “Let failure into your life with open arms, and then you’ll be unstoppable.” took me a couple of years, but I’m here. and I’m happy.

Till next time,

Sincerely Bk.

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