Reality
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About this ebook
"forgetting them would mean losing a part of myself — the parts of me that have fallen away and come back together like a kaleidoscope of colours, blurring together and turning me into the person i am. fragments of early memories slip through my mind, pieces of a broken sailboat bobbing along the murky depths, driftwood washing to the surface in the inky darkness."
REALITY is a rich and dark poetry collection, diving into the raw emotions and memories stemming from childhood to adolescence. every word is tinged with honesty and vivid imagery, language that shakes you to the core and keeps you thinking about it long after you've stopped reading. Sumaiya Ahmed's second collection examines relationships: familial, platonic and romantic, and faith (or lack thereof) in god, survival, depression and heartbreak.
Sumaiya Ahmed
Sumaiya Ahmed is a lifestyle, opinion and sex-positive writer, aiming to break down the boundaries of cultural stigma and shame attached to mental health and sexuality within the South Asian culture and bring marginalised topics to light. She is the author of two poetry collections, LOST AND FOUND and REALITY. THE ART OF FAKING IT is her debut novel. Sumaiya loves cookies, Modern Family and romance novels. To keep up-to-date with her, follow her blog: www.sumaiyaahmed.com
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Reality - Sumaiya Ahmed
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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There aren’t enough words I can think of to convey how thankful I am for the people who have supported me, encouraged me and lifted me up in the moments where I wanted to give up and give in. When it felt like the earth was splitting apart beneath me, these people—my family—carried me to safety, wiped away the dirt and grime and told me to try again. And try again. These are the people my soul knew in another life, in another time, long before we came to this earth.
Nahima and Shajeda Parvin, thank you’s will never be enough to convey my gratitude to you for everything.
To my parents: thank you for doing your best and supporting my writing. I will always be grateful to you for how much you’ve tried and how hard you’ve worked. I love you.
a memoir of a lost thing
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THERE ARE SOME MEMORIES I wish I could forget. But forgetting them would mean losing a part of myself — the parts of me that have fallen away and come back together like a kaleidoscope of colours, blurring together and turning me into the person I am. Fragments of early memories slip through my mind, pieces of a broken sailboat bobbing along the murky depths, driftwood washing to the surface in the inky darkness. These are the ones that flicker like snapshots of a movie, one that I don’t want to see, but I am forced to: the darkest memories hold the key and the reasons and the answers behind this persona I have put up, behind all the million and one reasons I hate myself. They linger like wisps of smoke curling into the air, a grey snake slithering predatorily, poised to attack.
Certain things will never leave me, no matter how much I want them to. They have burned into the back of my mind, into the crevice of my bird-cage chest, the flesh of my heart littered with silver scars and branded with the kind of