Why I would love to migrate to America, but I don’t

Being a journalist, I’m supposed to make small, crispy headlines – headlines that make sense in smallest possible words. Title of this blog post is just the opposite of that. Speaks volumes about my capabilities as a journalist.

Yes, I want to migrate to America. I’m in Pakistan, and no one arrests me here for making a clock. No one even raises a suspicious eyebrow over any ticking thing. We do have suspicions on Americans though. We believe every American is out there to kill us, either through drones or through Raymond Davis.

And yet I’m dying to migrate to America, or any other developed country. You see, this is complicated. The United States starts a war. On terror, off course. Knocks on our door, and goes like

Hey Pakistan! We’re starting a war, care to join it?

Pakistan: Er

Either you are with us or against us (exclamation mark expression on face).

Pakistan: Er

Boom Bang!

Pakistan: What was that?

We just bombed a place inside your boundary.

Pakistan: That’s outrageous.

Say AGAIN (exclamation mark expressions with a very VERY grim face).

Pakistan: We’re with you.

Good. Now Do More.

See, this is complicated. Now Pakistan is fighting a war that it did not wage in the first place, getting destabilized every passing day, and the country responsible for it is offering us education scholarships.

I long to move to a stable country, but my reaction to any scholarship: I do not apply. Because they ask me to fill a form containing 25 pages. TWENTY FIVE pages. Here I can’t write a blog post of twenty five words, and they expect me to fill so many pages.

So I don’t apply for scholarships. I do this so frequently and constantly that I should apply for government funding.

And even if I do get selected for a scholarship, I know what’s going to happen to me. It would be like…

This is how a developed and prosperous country looks like, thanks for visiting, now you can go back.

But I loved it so much, I wish to stay!

Thank you. But you can’t. And don’t try to come back for another five years.

Can you please take me to the moon?

We can’t, because that’s a daily prompt on the daily post.


Phobia: Visiting The Daily Post

Do you know I visit The Daily Post everyday?

YES. EVERY – DAY. Which means DAILY.

And what do I do there. I look at the daily prompt and tell myself, “Aw! That’s too complicated for me.”

Why do you guys give complicated daily prompts? Eh? And then you expect me not to hate you?

Well, hate is a strong word, and I hate to use strong words; but alternatives like ‘loathe’ are even more strong. See, how complicated my life is. Can’t even use an alternative of hate, totally, completely, absolutely ABHOR it.

And now look at the recent prompt – “Phobia, Shmobia.”

Is this even a word? If, by any means, Shmobia means an evolving fear of visiting The Daily Post, I’m feeling it developing inside me.

Guys, you’re going to kill the great writer in me (only a great writer can write 49 blog posts in almost three years – last one dating back to April this year, in which he had vowed to stop dreaming, and start writing)