Attacked on every front that there was; that of her character, her morals, her faith, her sense of loyalty to Pakistan. Called an agent, a traitor, a blasphemer, and every imaginable and unimaginable label and epithet from the many heaps and streams of hate, misogyny and abuse in this country for the condemnation and demonization of an individual. And yet, there she stood. She feared nothing and none.

Stories about race, culture, and identity. I am 5 years old. My life is on the verge of cataclysmic change. And I have no idea. I am in the midst of perhaps the most formative year of my life to date. My life is on the verge of cataclysmic change. And I have no idea.

An assortment of daydreams, forgotten memories, untold stories and fictional tragedies. The movie did have that Bin Roye effect on me. On one occasion my eyes welled up. The cinematography, choreography, soundtrack, dialogues, wardrobe, location .

All on my yellow beanbag. I found my drug,. Right after that plunging knife. Dug deep into my gut. Once then twice then another round. Till there were streaming tears with a watery smile. The kind of pain that cripples you. The kind of love that kills you. The Art of Letting Go. Can she handle a day on campus without drinking vodka? Will she .