Whatever you have lost, let it go

When we were kids, my youngest aunt (Paternal) uses to live with us. She was unmarried. She always listened to songs. The whole day, the same song. I mean whichever song she liked, the whole day she will play it. Because of this, I had memorized some of her favourite songs. 

After a long time, I found someone posts one of her favourite songs on Facebook, I remember this song, still the whole lyrics.

O mor moynago, o mor moynago o o o (moyna-go) [Oh my love]

Kar karone tumi akela (ekela) [For whom are you alone?]

Kar bihone bihone diba nishi je utola [Whose absence making you frustrated day and night?]

Sheto ashibena sheto firibena firibena (ashbena or ashibena) [That person is not coming back to you, never ever]

Dur dur dur-pane anmone chahiya [Looking unconsciously to far away]

Ki birager raginii jao gahiya [Which sad song are you singing?]

Shobuje shobuje vora banani (bonani) (shobuj or shobuje) [See the green forests]

Furabe fagoon bujhi janoni [You didn't notice that the spring is going to end soon]

Hayre hayre bujhi ta janoni [Oh poor you, you didn't notice]

Moynago, o mor moynago�..

Jhor jhor jhor du noyone jhor jhor jhoraye (noyono or noyone) [By dropping water from your eyes]

Keno thako, bishade mon bhoraye [Why are you always in the sad mood?]

Ja kichu haraye gelo jaak an, [Whatever you lost, let it go]

Nil akashe melo pakhna [Spread your wings in the blue sky]

Dao re dao-re mele pakhna [Spread your wings]

Moyna go, o mor moyna go

Kar karone tumi akela

Kar bihone bihone diba-nishi je utol

Biography 06: Mom

My mom was a full-time worker, and most of the time, she had to work more than her work time. She was doing very well in her job, had taken all the necessary training, and always stayed at the top of her colleagues. When I was 7 months old, my mom had to go to Khulna from Dhaka for a six-month training course. When she returned, I forgot her.

My mom is a short-tempered person. She has high blood pressure. She has gone through several surgeries. But she holds and keeps up our family including my dad's family and her parent's family. I told you she worked really hard for income, then at home to raise 5 kids. She has taken care of our education and also took us everywhere for our extracurricular activities. My dad liked the food, and she used to make different kinds of food. She was the one who worked with the labourers to build our 5-story building. Still, she is maintaining the house and taking care of all tenants. She did it all at the same time.

I love and respect my mom. But I always keep some distance. As I mentioned earlier, she was short-tempered. When she gets angry, she screams and uses her hand like all Bangladeshi moms. I'm the one who suffered most of the time. Because I wasn't good in (Compared to my other siblings) education, I didn't like to read, I liked to run around the house and drop things. One day, I escaped from our home with my sister and went to my uncle's house. My dad once told me, "Why don't you run away when your mom started hitting you?" I respect her. Another day, she was scolding me, and my son was 3/4 years old. He loves both, so he pushed Granny outside the room and locked the door. Then told me not to go outside now.

I know, most of the Bangladeshi mom raises their kid this way, this is their way of parenting. But for me, this situation created a big gap between my mom and me. I never went to her on any issue like other girls do (And they should). I didn't tell her when my period started, I didn't tell her when someone tried to abuse me, I didn't tell her anything that happened in my school, dancing or singing classes. I was all by myself. Still, I am.

I talk with my mom but don't try to continue more than 5 minutes. I know after that we will start arguing. My son loves his granma. She uses to bought him potato chips (Because I didn't want to give him). Even now she asked me to buy chips for him.

My mom is a very hard working woman. She helped every single relative who needed it. she takes care of all of us. Still she works more than me. I wish I could do something for her to make her life a little easier.

Plastic and paper recycle

 

In Canada, if you go to any mall, restaurant or any office, you will see there are different types of recycling bins. Some just mentioned for recycling. Some put name for plastic, for papers and for cans etc. Many people who are conscious about the environment take time and put each item to the dedicated bin and hope that those will be taken for recycling as mentioned.

 

Are they? NO.

 

I have seen some big companies; they took all and put together with general garbage and dump them like that. Nothing is being recycled. It’s like playing with people’s trust. Either they should properly recycle or only have garbage bins.

Biography 05: Flowers

 

I get born at 02.30am. In the morning when my parent brought me home, they found everywhere is decorated with flowers. Like they are welcoming me. The fact was “Shahid Minar”, the symbol of the language fighters who died to keep our mother tongue, was right beside the Dhaka Medical College. The whole area was decorated with flowers in respect of the language fighters.

 

Later they put my name “Shimul”, a flower of Spring.

 

I like the flowers. I used to search on the internet and keep beautiful flower pictures to make it my desktop picture.

 

In my first job, many of my colleagues give me flowers on my birthday. My whole desk was covered with flowers. At the end of the day, I had to ask someone to help me to carry flowers for me because I couldn’t take them all at a time.

 

This continues in my other jobs too. But things have changed now. Last year, my birthday was the worse celebration of my life. I kept quiet and wanted to know, how others celebrate my birthday. Nobody did anything. Even at home people didn’t care to say, “Happy birthday”, no gift, no arrangement. Only my mum called me, and sisters send me a message. It hurts! So, now I have decided I will celebrate it in my own way. As much fun as I can have by arranging by myself. Won’t bother if anybody does anything or not. I can buy flowers for myself, right?

You Got Me Too

 I heard this song as background music of a video. Someone was showing how to sew a flower with lace and the music was playing. Liked a lot so search for it. Here it is: 

https://youtu.be/-4yAf1CP3Yo

Loving Caliber

You had me at hello
Cause where you go is where I go
I don't need nobody else
I got you and you got me too

You came right out of the blue
I wanna do what you want to
We can leave and run away Someday, someday

I've been saving
I've been saving you
And you saved me too
Yeah I need it
Don't you need me too
Cause I need you

Yes, so call me anytime that you need a favour
Call me anytime I can come and save you, oh oh
Call me anytime that you need a friend
And call me anytime when you're out of time
And you I got you and you got me too

We can always make it trough
What we do is what we do
I can take you anywhere, somewhere
We won't be scared

You will see me flying high
I'm staring into your blue eyes
We don't need nobody else
I got you and you got me too

I've been saving…

Biography 04: Names

 

I have born in Springtime. In Bangladesh, during Spring Shimul flower or Bombax ceiba commonly known as cotton flower blooms. This is a big tree and the flower’s colour is red. When the flower blooms no leaf stays and you can see only red. Later flowers produce cotton. Which used for making cushion locally.

 

Maybe on the basis of that my mom (May be) kept my name Shimul. Still, my family and relatives call me with this name. In my first passport, my name was Shimul Sultana. Later my youngest grandfather (Maternal, my mom’s youngest uncle) give me a new name “Shahana”. So, then I became Shahana Sultana. If I translate this name, it will be “Queen Princess”. This name didn’t continue for long. Before I get admitted to grade two in Bangladesh, my mom did the final change. She added my father’s name to me. So, from then I became Shahana Shafiuddin.

“At the end, love wins”

 

Really? How many times you have seen this winning?

I have seen so many times, people fall in love, willing to do anything for their lovers. But in the end, they get refused. Their feelings were very true (I think), they just choose the wrong person to fall in.

 

When people near me did this. In the beginning, I had tried to warn them, that they should know, to what kind of person they are getting close. If they could stop, it would have been better for them. But even by knowing everything, they fall for it. On those days I didn’t know, why on earth they are even trying for that kind of people.

 

But with time, I realize, they did because they couldn’t stop themselves. Because of love, they always had hope, people will change, and fall for real with them. And that never happens, so, in the end, get hurt.

 

Later these broken heart people move on. They start their new life. But I felt the spark is missing. It looks like they are living with furniture. I hope, I’m wrong.

 

Almost all of them, who play with heart, didn’t get anything good (As far as I have seen). Karma is very true. No matter how they appear in society, deep inside they are living the worst life.

Biography 3 (Summery):

 

When I first started writing in this blog, I had decided, I won’t hesitate to write anything over here. Mostly it’s not a popular blog, I don’t need to worry. But, on Facebook, I always try to give happy news. 

Then I realize, I can’t hurt anyone. So, I must write in a way so that no one can specify who that person is. If I can’t sugar-coat, I will hide the story.

 

As I have started writing about me (Kind of biography), no one needs to worry. It will be only about me, with some unknown persons around me.

Every individual deserves this privacy

If anyone ever liked me, maybe only for some moments. They earned lifetime respect from me. I honour them. Theses feelings are priceless.

 

When any person directly or indirectly expressed their feeling to me, I had never disclosed it to any other person. None of my best friends, mom or sisters know about them. I believe every person deserves this privacy.

 

You have every right, not to love any person. But you have no right to make a joke about their feelings.

Biography 2: skin color

I have born at Dhaka Medical College. After getting birth, the doctor hit me to cry. To clear my vocal. My dad didn’t like that. So, to annoy him doctor kept hitting me and I kept crying. My dad couldn’t stop himself but to ask the doctor to stop. They laughed. Till now I found some people hurt me without any reason, just to enjoy.

 

My mom was happy to see me. Because she saw I didn’t take my father’s skin colour. My skin colour was white. As she told me that I had the brightest skin colour among all brothers and sisters (I doubt). But I couldn’t keep her happy for a long time. By 3 years I became just like my father. Quite dark skin.

 

In Bangladesh, people called me, black skin. But they always tried to make it sugar-coated. Like, you are black, but there is something attractive at your face, which makes people look at you, black rose etc.

 

I am not conscious of my skin colour. I rarely look at the mirror. So, most of the time I forget what my skin colour is. During my teenage, I noticed, all colour dresses aren’t looking good at me. I had to avoid some colours which make me look worse.

 

My skin colour became the most important thing in life, when I had started to think to marry. I know I'm not beautiful. But I didn't know I am that much ugly. For example, I'm giving you two comments, ugly girls like me always try to catch beautiful boys otherwise no one will marry them, My face looks so dirty I don't wash my face after getting up in the morning.

But I never tried to hide my colour. I even don’t put makeup on my face (Actually I even don’t know how to put on makeup, I don’t have any). I think, my face has different shades of colours, I don’t need to put more colours on it.

 

After arriving in Canada, I got to know, my skin colour is brown. But one day, one of my teachers told me, you are black. I didn’t hear like that for a long time. Then I looked at him and saw he is from Latin America. His skin colour is yellowish-white and very beautiful. So, obviously, my skin is very dark in his eyes. I didn’t mind, if he thinks like that, he has the right to let me know that.

 

I know, not only for my skin colour but because of the way I look, many people don’t like me. Some of them can’t hide it. It’s ok not to like me. But I am what I am, and I think I am a very good person to hang out with.