I survey the battle field. A plain black scarf lies quietly on the counter top of my bathroom, blanketing the empty tins and pots of makeup. Pins and brooches adorn the littered landscape, pins poking out underneath gems and stones, points at the ready.

Hair tied back tightly, I secure it under an underscarf, in attempts to shield my tender scalp from the barrage of pins and brooches.

You think it should be easy. A scarf. Just a piece of cloth, right? A few pins. What damage could they do?

I fling the cotton-polyester mix atop my head, holding the tassels like lassos. The edges are frayed and slip over my eyes first, and then down the crown of my head. Reaching out for a pin, I manage to secure it under my chin before it completely consumes me.

Breathless, I tackle the two dangling pieces of fabric. They flip and they flop, refusing to stay put.

I wrestle with them, as I wrap one piece around my neck and the other atop my head. But before I can pin them down, they’ve slithered downward and now I’ve lost the place where I was to pin them.

I try again. Out of their guards, the points of the pins find my scalp, my bare fingers and my neck, but not the clasp where they belong. Blood bubbles on the tips of my fingers and disappears into the scarf. Good thing its black.

Instead of pinning, I arrange them loosely around my neck, threading the pieces in a creative arrangement. At least I tell myself its creative. But now I appear to have no neck.

Gingerly, I wriggle a piece out of the arrangement and tie a bun around my hair, using the second piece to drape around my face. As I ready my shaking hand to secure the final piece, the bun comes undone.

I wrap it up again and again, it comes apart.

My reflection laughs at me as I grip the cloth tightly, swinging it over my head and neck, as I try to simultaneously create the desired folds and achieve the face-slimming drapes and cover all the bare flesh.

“Are you almost ready in there!” shouts my brother at the bathroom door.

I tug tightly on the pieces and secure them to the scarf. My neck is subsumed by ropes of fabric and my moon-like-face is nestled in cocoons of cloth.

As I tidy up the lethal pins and brooches, I eye my wary reflection in the mirror.

Today, I’ll let it go. But tomorrow is another day, and another battle.

A seemingly simple question with an equally complicated answer.

A question that makes my stomach bubble with life-sized butterflies, butterflies that flap their elephant-ear sized wings and that threaten to swallow me whole until I live in their stomachs.

For some, the answer is easy. Quick, like one two three. But for me? Not so much.

I open my mouth to answer. But all that emerges are incoherent rumblings, words and parts of sentences: “School. Writing. Publishing. Done. Fashion. University. Books. Teaching. Nothing. Fiction” like a mash-up of contents in the blender, equal parts confusing and equal parts disgusting.

The answer I wish I could form is much more lucid, much more awe-inducing.

A seamstress. I weave worlds out of words, thread them so tight you can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake.

An artist. I draw and sketch people who don’t exist, paint their likeness onto a canvas of light and dark, of glitter and splendour.

A magician. I wave my empty hands, with a swish and a flick, and ignite flames of passion and desire, of fury and fire.

But this answer remains buried deep inside, trapped between the aortic valve and the aorta, lodged somewhere beneath the larynx and the epiglottis, and makes my tonsils rattle.

And shame warms my cheeks, keeps my neck ablaze, and casts my eyes downward, as I search for an answer that will make them smile, and not raise their eyebrows, an answer that will make me smile, instead of chew my nails nervously. I search for a truth among the lies.

They mean well. I know they do. Sometimes, they’re just curious.

I can see the look in their eyes. The smile and pregnant pause right before asking of the question. I can feel the waves of anxiety beat against the walls of my stomach, as they open their mouths to say, “So. What is it that you do?”

Hello! So I haven’t updated for awhile, and that was because I was really busy with work and trying to wrap things up before I left. Friday was my last day, and even though its been about 3 days since then, I still can’t believe it.

My internship at UTP was four months long, which isn’t actually a very long time, but it felt rather long. After completing my publishing course at Humber mere weeks before I began my internship, I burnt out really easily in the beginning, and was longing for the end right in the beginning. But as time passed, I really started to get into it, and then time started flying.

By the end though, I had learned a lot, especially what the ‘real’ workplace/office environment is like. And that was great experience.

The past year has been crazy for me. Only this weekend did I pause to actually look back at everything that happened, and it made me realise how long its been since I’ve paused. I completed my final year of university and graduated. I started and finished the Creative Book Publishing Course at Humber College, and also graduated from that. I started an internship at a scholarly publishing house in downtown Toronto, and also completed that. Whew! Even thinking about it all makes my head spin.

What’s funny is that I can barely remember my final semester of university. It all seems so long ago, even though it was only April.

I’ve been going non-stop with school and work for so long that I’m kind of scared of what comes next. Every time someone asks me “What’s next?” butterflies start dancing in my tummy and I start to stress out. I’m the kind of person that can’t sit still for a long time, and even though I complain of wanting a break and being really tired, when I don’t have anything to do, that becomes a source of stress in itself. Weird, right?

But I keep trying to convince myself that I really do deserve a break. There’s a lot of stuff I’ve been neglecting for over a year now, that I really want to get back to. A lot of books that I want to read. A lot of writing that I need to do.

Speaking of books, I recently received a free copy of Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84 from Random House! I’m not sure how I entered (probably Twitter hehe) so I was surprised when I got the email telling me I won. Its such a gorgeous book that I can’t wait to store it on my bookshelf. Oh, and read it too. But that goes without being said.

Other than that, I’m planning on enjoying the holiday break with my family and friends and watching some Christmas movies. I know its kind of late, but I didn’t have a chance to watch any before Christmas, so better late than never, right?

What are your plans for the holidays?

Thanks for reading.

‘Till next time,

Ikhlas