munzs-stuff

[munzs-stuff]

Dear Dhaka, 

I think of you as if you’re a forgotten religion. But it’s made you more sacred in my eyes. I revere your piss-stained, graffitied walls. I worship the writhing masses of thick black wires that hang from electricity poles in every one of your street. I pray to the roaring hymns of buses and lorries that spew acrid black smoke. 

Dilijan smokes like you do. Sometimes, when I’m out, treading loose gravel, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. It smells like you. Like blackened lungs and grey ash spraying in the wind. I pretend that in front of my closed eyes are people with skin the colour of rich earth. I pretend for a moment, that if I opened them, right here, right now, I’d see you in all your triumphant glory. 

I’m not used to the cold. I’m used to your heat beating upon my back. I’m used to sweat dripping down the nape of my neck and down my spine. I don��t think I like this. I don’t like the way the cold air stabs through my throat like a sharp knife. Fog comes out of my mouth in puffs when I talk at night, when it’s cold. I remember cursing your name when that didn’t happen during the winters I spent with you. I remember praying for snow like I pray for your warmth now. The rain doesn’t smell right either. It doesn’t smell like earth. It doesn’t sound like a thousand trees heaving a relieved sigh. It’s wrong. It’s not home. It’s not you.

Stay well, my love. Don’t ever quieten. Don’t ever become pretty. Wait for me to come back to you. 

Until I can taste the rancid garbage in your air again,

M

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Abbas Attar's photographs of Dhaka on December 16, 1971: when the Pakistani Armed Forces finally surrendered to Mukti Bahini, ending the nine-month Liberation War and 1971 Bangladesh genocide and marking the official secession of East Pakistan to become the new state of Bangladesh. Bangladesh commemorates this day as Victory Day (বিজয় দিবস) to honour the martyrs who laid their lives down in the war.

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what if I was slowly dying of internal bleeding and hypothermia and you stayed with me and read to me. Because you know I'm dying and you don't want me to be alone and scared (like you were). And what if I chose You, instead of heaven?

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‘if sherlock is public domain than bbc sherlock—’ NO. I don’t want to hear it. if any of the bitches gonna kiss it’s gotta be them

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Hi! Since you're Bangaldeshi is it okay if someone calls you desi??

yeppp!

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“Tu kya hai, yaar?”

“Jo bhi hoon Tera hi hoon, yaar.”

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me everyday unfortunately

the bengali urge to nap away the afternoon

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Creatives 💫

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the best thing ive seen ever

That one show 😈😇

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look at you, you're gorgeous!

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he wants me so bad (i gaslit myself into thinking he watched a show for me when he probably didn't)

[munzs-stuff]

Dear Dhaka, 

I often hear people complain about how we don’t have Starbucks here. What they don’t see is the small shop with Candy Floss written above the door, highlighting hotdogs and burgers in harsh fluorescent lighting that serves the best cold coffee in the world. What they don’t see is the warm, comforting smell of coffee beans that hits you in the face so hard that you almost get whiplash every time you enter a North End. Does Starbucks smell like coffee? Yes, it does. But North End is at home, and no smell of coffee on this earth will smell better than the one at home. People who come to visit you from abroad become slack jawed because we don’t have McDonalds. But we have the familiar yellow of American Burger and BFC that we couldn’t find our home in at McDonalds’ even if we turned the world upside down. 

Your roads will smell of rotting garbage and anger and frustration and will almost always be brimming with traffic. People will stare and say bad things. Commuting will be horrible and slow and inefficient. There will be load shedding. But you’re our home. And dare I say, that even if I will not miss these things, the thought of leaving makes my heart pang with a weird pain. 

I’ve been dreaming of leaving for a long time now. To be on my own and get away from all that overwhelms and frustrates and saddens me here. But you will forevermore be a part of me. You will be where I first met my soulmates. You will be where I made memories, and became a person. You will be the place where I’ve loved and lost and rejoiced and mourned. And for that, my dearest city, I will always love and cherish you. 

     Love, 

M

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i stopped being their daughter and became their son a long while back, and yet I cannot escape the daughter's curse

and after everything, it's still your parents who hurt you in ways you would've never imagined or can ever fully recover from

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The perfect reading spot, in James’ opinion

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im fr boutta get cancelled for this but SOME marauders stans...(never jily or wolfstar though)

https://twitter.com/paintedrecs/status/1639610323580899328

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hello guys reminding everyone that i am, indeed, still obsessed with them

So sorry for neglecting you guys, as you can see I had something to work on! A merthur commission!

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dick grayson has been pegged by every single person he has been with.