What Being 23 Feels Like

Being 23 And Leaving My Dream Job

I started this blog to document the journey of my life. And for the past year or so, I haven't been doing a good job of it. So now, I will write a blogpost every day. Today, I will tell you what it's like parting ways with your dream job.

But before you start I'll have you know this isn't a Before-After story. There isn't light at the end of the tunnel (yet) cuz I'm still in the tunnel. Let's begin.

Ever since I stumbled upon the Struggles Of Lefties article on it, I had found my love in BuzzFeed. I had been following the website religiously when I discovered that they were setting up shop in Mumbai, India. Mind racing, heart pounding, I applied for it. A few interviews and I was in. I had set foot in the magically sweet, cat-filled, the most glorious land on the internet – BuzzFeed dot com the website. 22 years old, I was living my dream. I wrote about food, love, celebrities, I poured my heart out and the views and shares didn't let me down. Being a part of this, this and this video, the feeling is surreal. Everyone out there who dreams of working with BuzzFeed, I hope your dream comes true. It is a place worth going to. A madness worth being a part of.

Like all good things come to an end, my stint with the most beloved company ended in a year. First one in, first one out. Sometimes you love someone to bones, but the relationship doesn't work out. Literally my BF and I had to part ways.

And so, here I am.

This time last year I had planned my life. I would be 90 years old and scouting photos of Hrithik Roshan, all ready to write a new article– 27 Photos That Prove Hrithik Roshan Basically Didn't Age.  I can still write said article when I'm 90 because BuzzFeed has a killer Community Super-poster but what's the fun in that? For me this was it. The last one, my the one. My Chosen One, if you will.

But the game of Life is unpredictable. I'm 23, where I'd thought I'd be Editor-in-Chief (hey, I'm allowed to dream), I'm at home. Writing this. Adding McDonald's Happy Meal to my XXL hips and collecting Minion toys with the last salary I got. I'd like to call the situation I'm in a dramatic pause. A very long one. Alan Rickman will be proud of me.

And you know what? I'm okay.

This isn't a story about me and BuzzFeed, no. This is me sharing a very important lesson with you– that you can have your life turned upside down, and you will feel like it's the end of the world, and it will still be okay. Do you hear me? You. Will. Be. Okay.

That's the thing about having everything taken away from you, then you have nothing to lose :)

Happiness can be found in the darkest of times if only one remember to turn on the light!

So smile. All is well.

Until tomorrow,
Karima

'Candy Crush' pain in the Notific-ass-tion? No more!

Countless people are updating status that more or less mean they hate Candy Crush and the request. More because it's the only Notification they get. Haha

Anyway, here's how you can stop that.

Make that fierce 'Enough is Enough' face and open your Notifications tab

Yell, 'Candy Crush where ya at?!' and 

Hover over that specific update to find an X and O

Click on the X

By this time I was obviously bored of all the blurring

Almost there...

Find Redemption

You're welcome, I love you back :)


~ karimuah

Rosalie and the remote

R0salie and the Remote

A day as beautiful as any other. Rosalie walked out of her house, into the backyard and smiled. She stretched out her beautifully long hands as if inviting the sun for the warmest of hugs. She took in a deep breath and let out a little giggle. It was only her that day.

'Good morning, sunshine' The old lady from next door yelled out to Rosalie in her shaky voice

'Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery. Isn't it such a beautiful day?'

'Yes, my love, it is! Pray, where is your family?'

'They aren't around. I've to get going. Have a nice day!'

Rosalie was going to do all possible things to avoid questions on whereabouts of her family. She went inside the house. Her brother's dead body lying on the sofa. He really shouldn't have fought for the remote last night. Why did mother have to be on his side like all the time? Why did father try to slap when there was an argument with mother? She really didn't like this daily routine. She did what any normal teenager would do. She went to the kitchen, open the drawers and brought out a knife. 

She stuck it into her brother's neck first - the bugger numbed her mind. She then went for the mother, who was sitting on the couch right next to him. Panicked, she stood up and before she could yell, the knife went through her heart and she collapsed. Her father came out in the living room tucking his shirt in. He looked up and started saying, 'Where is your moth...' the knife that killed the rest of his kin went through the stomach he'd just emptied. 

Rosalie reenacted the entire scene as though it was a choreographed action routine. Across the glass, a man and a woman looked at Rosalie in her white uniform, in the white room.

The concerned woman who looked so much like Rosalie asked, 'Will she ever get better?'

'No, the wound on her head is very deep. Your daughter's hallucinatory amnesia only seems to be getting stronger. But we're trying'
'Oh, it was only a TV remote,' said her mother and walked out of California Rehabilitation and Brain Research Center.

-End-

Note - There's no such thing as Hallucinatory Amnesia. Atleast I don't think so. Google :P

Thanks for reading! Leave your comments, I'd love to read it :)

Love,
karimuah

The Beautiful Killer

So, I wrote my first short story! Opinions welcome :)

The Beautiful Killer

‘If only looks could kill…’ they breathed when she walked past them. Every boy who laid eyes on that girl who had skin as though it was bleached by pearls. One of the three whistled - the sound as light as a whisper found her ear. The Jimmy Choos came to a halt. A soft rapt, a knife out, it darted across and the whistler was dead.

She started walking towards the other two, they ran for their lives. ‘One down, what number to go? Oh dear, oh dear’ The Louis Vuitton, full of little knives like these, dangled by her side as she walked her way again. She was too well with her craft, like the football at the professional’s feet.

‘May I help you, you pretty girl?’ A car had halted in the dark alleyway that she was on. Not more than 5 a day was her rule and she stuck by it. Since that one night that had changed everything. She’d just killed the 5^th one and it was only 8 pm. Did this one deserve to die too?

She looked at the car, the Jaguar was breath taking. Impressive, she thought.

‘It looks like it’s going to rain. You will ruin that pretty dress of yours. You don’t want that now, do you?’ She looked at her Dolce dress and then looked at him. Stereotypical schmuck, the words that perfectly described the stranger struck her mind.

He reminded her so much of the man who didn't know what a 'No' meant. A filthy rich hag who thought he could force on her, and force on her he did. The scars of that night and the nights after that when she was chained to his bed rushed back to her. What also came back was the satisfaction she got when she strangled him with the very chains she was bound to. It was a wonderful idea to pretend to give in and try something in the shower. This man was so much like him. He must be stopped.

She bent the rule that night. He took her to a hotel that night. She strangled him too, with the chains she carried. But not before she gave him the kiss he longed for. The kiss of death that came with her red lipstick. She grabbed the keys to his Jag, she would sell it for another Dolce, a Guess maybe.