My Favorite Oil Pastels

When I was little, my youngest uncle had given me a set of oil pastels to draw with. They quickly became my favorite. I even brought it with me when I moved to America. I had it for a bit until they were practically taken from me. We had a family friend come over to our house and they had a daughter who was like three at the time. I was six. Unfortunately, she eyed my favorite oil pastels and wouldn’t leave without it. I was reluctant to give it to her and looked over to my parents. They understood my feelings but didn’t say anything to her parents. What could they say when her parents themselves weren’t saying anything to their daughter? In the end, baba told me to give it to her. I was appalled and angry at the baby’s parents that they could have let something like this happen. Yeah, sure the baby might not be able to help it, but isn’t it their duty to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong. The mother was apologetic that her daughter took the crayons but to me it didn’t matter how apologetic she was. She didn’t stop her daughter from taking it. She didn’t take the time to realize how special those crayons were to me. I cried that day, after they left. I cried and I moved on.

And you know what happened to my crayons?

A few months later when we went to visit their house, the aunty was telling my parents and I that she is often times saddened to see the broken pieces of my crayons lying around when cleaning the floor. I wish she would have seen my fists clench at that moment or see how hurt I felt. ໒( ᓀ ‸ ᓂ )७ She actually had the gall to mention that in front of me when it was she who did nothing to stop her daughter in both cases. Ugh, people I tell you ໒( ⇀ ‸ ↼ )७. Gets on my nerves.

On the bright side… this time I bought a set of oil pastels when I visited Bangladesh           °˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ °


Oil Pastels ❤ ❤

I was so happy to buy this. I felt I had found something I lost years ago. So many beautiful memories are attached with this little thing.           (︶▽︶)

A Trouvaille

Look what I found whilst cleaning out my room…


Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

I read this book along with Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice for my capstone course, Studies in Romanticism, in my senior year of college. Using these two books for my thesis, I argued that subjectivity is rooted in knowledge in both Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and that both authors depict knowledge differently. I successfully argued that Shelley depicts knowledge negatively by showing how Victor Frankenstein’s pursuit of power leads to his tragedy. While, on the other hand, Austen depicts knowledge positively by showing that Elizabeth Bennett’s self-awareness leads to felicity.

At that time, we were required to write at least 15 pages for which I was a tad bit worried. I did not know if my topic would be able to span that long. So when I started to formulate how I was going to about it, I started making an outline. I love outlines! They help me focus. They don’t only help me focus, they help students focus. I used outlines to help 5th grade students collect their thoughts as they started to write 4-5 paragraph essays. And they loved it because now they knew where they were going with their topic. Anyways, I started to make an outline and I worked on it, added to it, and perfected it for about a month and a half. See, for me, I don’t start to put anything on paper until I have some sort of content going for me. If you give me a blank piece of paper, I won’t even touch it until I am sure of what I am going to put on that paper. I may write over, scratch, and tear my outline paper to shreds, but I will never touch that blank piece of paper until I have something solid. And you better believe that I made use of that outline. Lines and arrows filled the entire page as sentences climbed up the sides. For each new point I made, I assigned it a number which represented a page. When I was satisfied with what I had, I started writing. For me, writing is an active process. When I started writing, I knew that from my outline I would not be able to come up with 15 pages of solid writing alone. But I knew that along the way, I would be able to come up with content that is relevant to my topic. And boy! was I on fire! I had submerged myself deep into my writing. From arguments that I had previously made, new arguments arose. And just as I had done with my outline, I was working my way through my paper. This was my canvas at that moment and I was working my way towards perfecting it. I wrote 16 pages in three days. All that work payed off because I received an A+ on that paper 🙂 .


February 10- Things I Collect

  1. Coins/money of different countries of the world
  2. Shells
  3. Rocks/pebbles (I really like the smooth ones. If it feels nice, I’ll often times keep it in my pocket to calm my nerves whenever I need it.)
  4. Marbles ( I don’t really collect them as mush anymore, but I do still have a collection.
  5. Stickers, of course!
  6. Washi Tape (my new favorite)
  7. Pens (I recently received some new ones from my cousin in Bangladesh. They are Matador’s i-teen ballpoint water/oil gel pens. And they are superb! I fell in love with them when I visited Bangladesh last summer.)
  8. Pencils (Also a favorite. Plus did you know that there is a pencil haven in Manhattan, NYC? OMG, I can’t wait to visit that place. It’s called CW Enterprise and founded by Caroline Weaver. I was really excited before when I found out about it, but now I am even more excited because they have a special type of pencil that I have been looking for for a long time. It’s the HB Noris Un-Tipped Pencil –Staedtler. This pencil brings back many beautiful memories from my childhood in Bangladesh. Every time I visit Bangladesh, I always look for them. This past summer when I went, I was looking for a lot of stationary items such as oil pastels [which has another story of its own], pencils, pens, erasers, etc. My husband looked at me in awe when he saw how giddy I was just buying them. Unfortunately, in the past few years, the people of Bangladesh have started to use pens more than pencils 😦 ; so I was unable to find this specific type of pencil as well as the metal sharpeners.)
  9. Planners (Not really collect… but keep. I like to keep planners/journals because they showcase what I’ve done or what I’ve been through at any given time/moment. And sometimes it feels really nice to flip through them 🙂 ).
  10. Yu-Gi-OH cards (My brother’s going to hate me for this (^ワ^=). I still have the cards we collected as kids. I never played with mine, I just liked collecting. But he was furious, and still is furious that a) I keep them despite not playing with them and b) I don’t give it back to him. In truth they were initially his cards, but after he received a new deck, I got his previous deck which contains Dark Magician, Summoned Skull, Mystical Elf, Mammoth Graveyard, and Kuriboh, just to name a few. )

February 7- My Favorite Part of School

Hmmm… My favorite part of school was probably lunch time where I got to unwind and catch up with friends. Well, in middle school (NYC~6th/7th grade) it was a little different. Although I did enjoy hanging out with friends during lunch time, I also liked bunking it sometimes to spend some quiet time in the special education room where my speech classes were held. I have to write about that one time. Anyway, by the end of my 7th grade school year, my friends eventually became curious about where I went during lunch. And after I told them that I volunteered my time to help out teachers and students in the special education room, they started to take out their time from lunch to help out too ❤ ❤ . I moved to Pennsylvania after that school year. But my friends continued to help out even without me being there 🙂


Dadi’s Garden

I wanna go back 😭. I spent the first six years of my life here. This specific window led to my grandmother’s tiny garden. Every once in a while she would have it opened to tend to the plants. We both would stand on this side of the window watching the plants being watered or the guavas being picked from the guava tree. Thank you ammu for opening this gate for me that day. The rain, the atmosphere, and the vehicles on the street both heightened my emotions and brought back many beautiful memories. I am going to cherish this moment forever. And thank you for keeping dadi’s garden flourishing all throughout the years ❤️❤️, even though it has changed quite a bit…. the jackfruit tree has gotten smaller and the guava tree is no more. Even in dadi’s absence, I feel her presence every time I’m here 😌.

Shell Collecting 

I came across this picture as I was looking through my phone and immediately thought, “The shells! Where are the shells?!” Thankfully, while doing a little digging, I found it tucked away in my closet. The girl on my left noticed I was collecting, and without me even asking, she collected a bunch for me 🙂 ❤. Then the other girl joined in and started collecting more as we walked, scooping the edges of her kameez to make a pouch for the shells. They stayed with me the entire time so I could walk across the rocks and coral stones easily. And the  shell in the third picture, our photographer (a native of Cox’s Bazaar) found for me because he wanted me to take a piece of his home with him ❤❤

Inani Beach, Cox’s Bazaar, Bangladesh

The Voices of Despair

Bullets flew past me as I crawled through the paddy field. I saw many fall down in front of me but I could do nothing to help but go on. I reached the bank but wasn’t sure if I should cross it. Hearing men coming my way, I slunk back into the field and waited. I stopped breathing for a minute and nine seconds in fear that they might hear me, capture me, and kill me. Nothing was left and there was no where to go. The only thing you could do was go forward and pray that you stayed alive for one more day. A group of soldiers were on the road laughing and talking in their language. Their boisterous voices were full of filth and hate. Anger boiled inside of me. I wanted to take them down right then and there, but they were too many. They heard a noise from a little ways away and followed it while I took the chance to get out of there as fast as I could.

The only way to move about was at night. It seemed as if I had been walking for miles. I was tired and my feet were cracked and dirty. My stomach growled. The road was pitch black and the moonlight wasn’t helping me any. Eventually, I lost track of the road and landed back in the paddy field when I felt a great excruciating pain on my right toe. I screamed silently for fear of the Paki cops finding me as I blindly tried to remove the thorn. Unable to, I kept on walking as my foot bled. I had no choice but to go on. I don’t know how much longer I walked but after a while, even the pain seemed to go away. After what seemed like hours, I saw something off in the distance, like a light flickering, and then it was gone. A few minutes later, I saw it again and this time I figured it wasn’t just in my head. I headed towards it and found a small house. I limped my way to a tree and wondered if I should get closer. What if the soldiers were using it as a base? But what if they weren’t? What if it was just a normal house with normal people inside? I could get help. They could tell me if they saw my family. 

Taking a chance, I limped across the yard to the front door. My heart, beating more times than I could count, stopped right there as I pushed the door open and ten thousand voices shrilled, resonating through my body and into the night.


^^This is a recount of my father during the Liberation War. It was about the time he became separated from his family when Pakistani soldiers stormed his village and they were forced to leave everything and flee for their lives.

Over Breakfast

Baba was telling me about Dr. Abdul Kalam today and how he persevered to get a good education for himself and his family. The topic started today over a paratha that Ma accidentally burned in which I volunteered to eat because I did not want her to.

So Baba started telling me that when Kalam was a boy he had to walk 7 miles to his school which was very hard for him. Everyday his mother would pack his food. His family was very poor and did not have much food to begin with but since he walked for such a long time, his mother would give him a few extra pieces of her portion as well. One day, his mother was making roti for her husband which she accidentally burned. Since she did not have any more she had to give him the burned roti and said that she accidentally burned it. Her husband took it and said, “It’s okay. I love burned roti.” That same night before Kalam and his father went to sleep, Kalam asked his father, “I have never seen you eat burned roti before. Why did you say you like burned roti?”. His father replied, “There is no pioint in saying anything negative about it. What is done is done. If I had said something, your mother would have become more saddened.” I really liked how the father reacted to the the burned roti. It really shows his love and respect for his wife.

Baba also told me that Dr. Abdul Kalam was really good with words so I found this quote which I can really relate to.

“One best book is equal to a hundred good friends but one good friend is equal to a library.”
-Dr. Abdul Kalam, Wings Of Fire