Aadhil Muneef

This is going to be very simple and straightforward, a new style of writing even for me. There is an almost arrogance within that has persisted for years, that things will work out for me, no matter what happens, no matter how much I sin and do people wrong, to be a proud monomaniacal narcissist. Things will work out in life for me until they didn't, and as every good run comes to an end, the humbling begins. Being put through endless trials, so much so that sometimes I wished I was dead. Dying felt easier. There was so much happening in my mind at the same time, thoughts barraged, to the point that I would cling onto anything, to be mind-numbed for a single minute felt like relief. I was wearing headphones for a whole 7 months just to push out the thoughts and silence everything. Perceptiveness will alter your reality, switch the way you see your qadr or fate, and you start to attract so much goodness into parts of life that light was never able to reach. I have always been a hate...

There was always a desire for legacy within me, to never be forgotten. I NEEDED TO LEAVE SOMETHING BEHIND. This had a hold over me for far too long, and coming to terms with it was no easy task. The fact that I will be forgotten the same way I have forgotten dead friends and family. They linger within me, but I'm not often reminded of their existence as it used to be. Time is an astonishing thing, how it heals, how it slowly chips away. There are endless roads I could take to move forward in life. I have chosen to dull my loud presence, to continue on this path of insignificance. This way there is less pressure to grow out of proportion, more time to focus on things closer to me: family and significant others. I truly believe now that if I focus inherently on these things and make meaning out of everything, see goodness in delays and negative experiences, maintain an easy-going perspective, abide by my religion and its teachings, no matter how insignificant and dull my presence may...

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...

A dying extrovert is what I am right now, just doing everything I can to prevent my extinction. Holding on always seemed so exhausting, very exhausting. As much as I love to talk so much, I love keeping shit to myself as much too. I tell myself, it is not real. It is not real when it is in my head, it's delusional. I am delusion and everything seems to be that way, it is easier. Everything I utter seems so repetitive. Every word feels like I've already spoken about it before. It is uneasy, it really is, in a way. But no matter how repetitive everything I utter is, it's still real and it is not delusional. These days, I have this recurring dream, I just drown. Drowning in a pool of my own blood, which tastes like frozen candy for some reason, but it is still painful when I wake up. The ghosts are catching up to me. It is easier to live your whole life in discomfort, than ever knowing comfort at all. Because when you do, when you know comfort and security and it is snatched a...

I am not even gonna bother with introductions, just wanna dive right in. There's a lot to unpack. Been two months since I've written anything. So yeah let's start. Life has had a way of bringing temporary people as a solution for all my permanent problems, not all but major one or two let's say. So in each stage of my life I have always had one, I don't know how or where I find these people, these temporary people, that I would give a part of my soul to. More like my entire soul in a way. I am feeling very hesitant to unpack but these thoughts that have been flooding into my head all day, it is a sign, a sign that says "let it all flow out" and I am really trying right now. But what do you do, when God stops sending these temporary people? Or maybe I don't want anyone temporary anymore. Which is quite sad really, and for me it is as sad as it could get.  I have had or more still have an issue of extreme extreme loneliness, and such codepedency issues t...

I write this with a heavy heart, maybe not as heavy as it used to be, still heavy in so many unfathomable ways. I see purpose in writing this, at least I guess I do. I am not quite sure. Neither am I confused. In truth I am perfectly in touch will all of my emotions, every single one. This is a pat in the back in a nonchalant sorta way. Never did realize how deep a five minute thought process would be, the depth of grief, the insanity behind the concept of reliability on oneself and others. The morality behind the sacred intimacy, the abandoning, the slut awakening, the hardening of a cotton candy heart and the tiredness of my soul. I feel like exhaustion would suit the theme more. So, my exhausted soul. In all honesty, this whole feature is going to be a whole rant. More like speaking everything into existence--NO, writing everything into existence whilst constantly constantly talking to myself about a mirage of emotions, that is real. Real in so many unspoken ways. Sigh.  I guess...

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...