Borderline friendship

If she keeps on burning any longer, she won't survive. This line often rings in my head whenever i think of Pakistan. Every country deserves better. More so when i come across news headlines with some place in that Allahforsaken country having a blast. Of the horrible sort. When such discouraging buzz is doing the round, my memory runs through the gems listed below. Each one of them have a face and a story; some short, some longer. Depending on the kind of interaction i've had with them in the virtual world over the past few years. For the record, the only Pakistani i've ever met in person is Ali Zafar. Yes, the actor-singer. The people i've mentioned below are those whom i haven't had the good fortune to meet. Yet.     

Sahil. Furhan. Mehvish. Shiraz. Marvi. Umer. Osama. Akram. Anika. Fizza. Sana. Asma. Sohail. Aadil. Zeeshan. Nazia. Ahmed. Waji. Khawarbhai. Hasan. Kiran. Nada. Zyenab. Rabab. Hira. Burhan. Danish. Aneek. Hafsa. Haroon. Khaver. SMQ. Farhan. Obaid. Heena. Joanna. Rai. Kursed. Haider. Naukhaiz. Niza. Sara. Laeeq. MQazi. Rumaisa. Waqas. Zohaib. Muhammad. Heeri. Samaira. Maliha.

Though i'm not very good with names and i'm sure i must have missed some in haste, these are the ones who instantly clicked. They taught me something or the other about myself by expressing their views. Most of them belong to the ever-affable blogosphere (besides Twitterverse) and i share a good rapport—if not deep friendship—with each one of them. Someday, not very far away from where we are today, i'll be crossing the border to have a chat. Until that happens, i hope they are fine and separated from danger. Of any sort. Situations are so grim right now that when i ask a friend from across the border to take care—unlike with others—i specifically mean it.