Aadhil Muneef

Dirt. Dirt under my nails. I claw myself out of the grave I buried myself in. The horrors an unstable mind can conjure. I write this with a conflicted heart—not as heavy as it once was, but lighter than it’s ever been. Gradual growth. Expansion? Ascension? By the time I reach the end of this, maybe I’ll have sorted the war within. This is for clarity. As everything ever was, and everything that will be. In alchemy, the law of equivalent exchange states: nothing can be created without something of equal value being lost. As someone who reflects obsessively, who questions everything, I’ve lived a questionable life. My actions, more questionable. I dwell in a glass house, the essence of transparency. And yet, there’s no one I’ve been more abusive to than myself. For every two cents I gained, I lost a billion dollars in spirit. The law was never equivalent. I bled more than I built. My situation didn’t change. Maybe I did. Camus says in The Myth of Sisyphus, "The struggle itself towar...

I am told that I should write a book of sorts. To pour the melancholy in me into paper. I do not know of a path that I should take to complete a book, but for now I will focus on completing the next sentence, the next paragraph and the next page. Imitating is one of the most impactful ways for you to learn something, be something. The way a child imitates their grandparents. Yes, my book is off to a mediocre start. I do not know how to continue on this path but right now I am the closest to Kafka. I am an amalgamation of a billion absurdities and I need to take this forward. I need a character that embodies the very idea and the essence of my being. My being is conflicting, I am completely blindsided. I yearn for redemption. I know of a lot of things, I lack the knowledge for the most part and I pretend and continue to pretend. To be the things that I am not, to live up to the standard of what is required of me. --- Chapter 01 – 30-04-2025 – Consistent Disruptions The path to adulthood...

A series of unfortunate circumstances, but never an unfortunate life. I am currently unlearning everything that I am, rebuilding my being from scratch in the hopes of once again achieving sentience — or maybe glorious mortality. Time and time again, I continued to glorify grief. What I should have done is glorified the moments in between my grief. The depth of my self-awareness still continues to scare me. I never understood or felt the fact when authors of over hundreds of years ago mentioned: to understand people, you have to understand yourself. The complexities that come with understanding yourself are that you're put in situations — an undeniably excruciating, agonizing life-to-death process. During this time period, I am stuck in my moments of grief — the moments of self-hate, regret, and hit with the nuke of "what ifs." Now this is my limbo. A period in my life that requires me to carry myself with unwavering resilience to face everything head-on. I say all this, b...

It is currently 02:04 a.m. I just tweeted that I was about to write a short story on an alternate version of me, or maybe this is just my way of accumulating all my existing pieces of regrets and packing them together to build a single most happy bit of utter fiction. I am not really sure about that, though. Sure about how every regret I ever have and ever will continue to have, could be a definitive reason for my lack of happiness, or maybe it is all in my head, right now. At this moment, to write this piece of work, did I really put myself in a position of sadness. I doubt that, on a further note, I do doubt a lot of things. Like my life choices, maybe they weren't my choices to begin with, because to me. I was in control, for the most part, really. In a way it felt powerful, very powerful. So, let's begin. Yeah, this shit sucks. I was definitely about to write a short story and a whole other piece is entering my mind, and it about to flow off the tip of my fingers, and it is...

The infinitely abundant atrocities of my bedridden life, that it is now. Keeps screaming, obscure emotions to be exact, as to why I should always be present. Being available. Not being available for myself but for people to be exact. Availability as premature as it sounds, is something that is so, I would like to use the word "devastating" because that it is actually how I feel. Because of this horrific 6 inch cuboid? That is always by my side. Decides when I am available, being so easy for anyone to reach at any time of the day, being left high and drained. So let's get into this. Being available. Sounds bizarrely kind? Not kind. Warm. As warm as it sounds, it's not. Not by a long shot. People don't truly value peace, when they have never known what war really is. Same goes when you're so available for people to reach you, to be there, to be the saint, the savior. There's nothing wrong with that, not at all. Being there for people is a very n...

I think this is going to be one of my shortest blogs, I really find it weird to put out content with very less reading time. But thinking about this does really put a smile on my face. *smiles in Thanos*.  To really get into this whole story which I am just trying to just drag on right now, we're gonna have to go back to 2010, way before my glory days, I guess. During this time I had changed schools, from a private institution to a government one, because the family was kind of in a pinch. So what I had to do was take the road bus, the school was 18kms away from where I lived, it's not that far, but when you are a kid, with no prior knowledge about how buses work, and have to cross three whole neighborhood cities, it is, I don't feel like it is a lot now, but it kinda was.  So day in and day out riding my bicycle at 6 in the morning taking my sweet little time, getting to the bus halt, and there are these, what do you call it, cycle parks? I don't know what you call it....

Bonds. Bonds, nothing but bonds. To be honest I don't even know what to talk about, I just jumped onto the first thing that came to my head. Writing really feels so nice. Nice isn't the word but "nice" feels so warm, like warm hug after a whole day of crying alone, "nice" feels like a real tea made using Anchor not the fake ass Rathi and Nespray ones, NO HATE bruv. Just stating facts here. As a generation right now, I don't know how we ended up here, but man, honestly, confrontation sucks, I'd rather cut you off than actually, talk it out-deal with it and sort the whole issue and be on my merry little way. I'd rather sit in my room all day long, make shit up in my head, victimize myself than actually confront you and talk to you about it. I don't do that, I like confrontation and hurting myself, but for sake of the argument let's just move forward with it. Because confrontation sucks. I don't know if I should make this personal or not...

Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Anxiety, Depression Never in my life had I thought how loud silence could be, how fragile my ego is, how heavy the jabs were on my barren soul and how the most toxic person/thing in my life was my thoughts. Entrapping every good memory, locking it in, not only did I forget the essence of my Being but also the essence of joy. I'd ask myself "how long has been since I had truly been at peace" because for some reason, I've always valued peace more than happiness. Happiness is a hoax, it doesn't truly last no matter what you do. I could be sitting with a buncha people and suddenly, a wave of existential angst would drown me, for a mere a split second, and after that there is no turning back to the perfect day I had. It's ruined. And who's fault is that? Mine. So what happens next, is that the chaos within myself, starts feasting on my soul, telling myself "there's no one around" "no one willing to help...

For the past 22 years of my life all I ever did was run, I kept running forward, well more like marching forward; eyes on the price, with nothing but bones in my closet- scars and unhealed wounds on my back. I never really felt it to be honest. Nothing really weighed me down, the more time went by, the better it was it to ignore. And when the distress is ignored long enough, putting up with the whole "I wanna heal and be better", the whole notion becomes a pipe dream. So as far as I could possibly remember, I never dealt with anything really, didn't wanna confront any of my demons? I never really understood why people tend it call it "demons" but in truth it was myself all along. I was the demon that I needed to defeat to be better, to heal. And my oh my did I think that loving oneself was the something that is easier, maybe it is. I am not really sure. I tend to have my doubts when it comes to "loving myself". For a long long time, I did love myself n...

Author's note, the past 6 months have been a wild ride, met a lot of people, learnt a lot of things, gave up on a lot of things I never thought I would. So the thing is, this blog has been in my drafts since the second week of December I guess, one of my friends read it and thought it wasn't up to it. I know that quality is subjective. Keep me in your prayers, I never meant to post this but I feel like it would relate to a lot people. I have not written is so long because I have my finals coming up and I am almost done with my Bachelors. I didn't change anything from what I had written, the draft is still the same, excuse my language. I am honestly sorry if my language makes any of the readers uncomfortable, however, that's the last of my F bombs. I will do better next time. Once again extremely sorry for the use profanity. I know better, but the capture of emotions is surreal so I let it be. On a final note, I kinda deleted all my socials and have no way of promoting t...

Wandering down this dark alley, this path that I, myself forged whereas that I don't even recall it. As I move forth hoping that I'm not at the brink of my extinction, I am beyond making amends, somehow I've move past the need to do so. Still paving my way forward with not a shred of hope, how did I get here? What was it that really had the vigor to push me over into the abyss?  As for the pinnacle of hope I was striving to be, I was knocked off my pedestal, this coup de tat within myself. I've lost. Started seeking ways to keep my journey here short, but demise was not the answer. I wish that an individual would break into my house, kick my door down, split my chest open using a couple of battle-axes peak into the depth of my dark soul and witness what's really going on in there. Because I do not know.  How do I speak of this darkness that overwhelms me in every turn I make in my life if I don't even know what it really is? How to do I ask for the assistance of...