Tagline Poll

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

Hope you all are well. 

So I’ve counted the votes from the previous post and narrowed down the options. I’ve also added Sister A’s suggestion because it fits perfectly. 

Please vote your final choice. Plus it’s anonymous this time, silent readers! 😉


Twitter: @illusioner0311_

Facebook: Troubled Illusions

Have a marvelous Monday!

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

One Hundred and Forty Nine

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

Hope all my lovely readers are doing well!

K.A. this one is for you, cousin. ❤ (See I’m using a red heart for you. 🙄😜😘) 

Waiting to know your guesses once you’ll done reading. 😉

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

(P.S xoxomg and BeingMuslim, you’ll will be proud to know that I’m pretty happy with this post! 😊🌸)

As narrated by Dayyanah:

It’s dark.

Too dark.

The kind of dark where you can’t even see your fingers in front of your face, where you might as well shut your eyes because having them open makes no difference.

I stop, terrified.

My heart pounds against my rib cage as I squint, trying to make out something, anything, that will tell me where I am.

But the darkness stretches before me like endless river.

It engulfs me from every side with its claustrophobic hands, slowly tightening its hold on my throat, challenging me to breathe.

I grasp wildly at my throat, trying to pull away the invisible force pressing down on my windpipe.

Breathe.. Breathe!! You need to breathe!

But the darkness is overwhelming, terrifying me to the core.

And the silence… the silence is so loud, that it can’t even be heard.

They’ve teamed up, the absolute darkness and the deafening silence.

They’ve teamed up against me.

They’re the hunters- slowly, stealthily, creeping towards me, waiting for the perfect chance to strike.

I’m the prey, encircled, trapped, helpless.

And then I hear it.

At first, I think I’m imagining.


It’s a dragged whisper, distant and low.

I strain my ears, trying to figure out where it’s coming from.

But my mind, troubled and anxious, plays a trick on me, for first it sounds to my right, and then to my left.

I slowly turn right around, squinting into the darkness as the voice calls over and over again.


It’s getting closer, whatever it is, whoever it is.

It knows exactly where I am, whereas I, myself, don’t even know where I am.

And then, just like that, the voice is right by ear.

I feel the person’s lips lightly touch me, their hot breath fanning my ear.


Every fiber of my being fills with fear.

Oh god. It’s him.

My scream slices the silences, splitting it.

I whip around so fast that I almost fall over.

My hands strike out in way of self defense, but all they meet is the empty air.

His laughter reaches my ears. Cold, mocking, powerful.

I scream again, my heart hammering against my chest.

“Dayyanah,” he says, his tone is taunting.

God. He knows. He knows I’m terrified of the dark.

“WHERE ARE YOU?!” I yell into the darkness. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Don’t shout, Dayyanah,” he whispers, right behind me.

I scream again, spinning on my heels.

He’s using my weakness against me, pushing my mental strength to its limits.

“GO AWAY!” I yell.

Suddenly, I feel his fingertips on my back, reaching for my  jacket.

I take off, the sound of my shoes slapping the ground echoing.

He follows in pursuit, right behind me.

I run faster and faster, adrenaline surging through my veins.

On and on, further and further into the depths of the darkness, until it begins to feel like forever.

My legs beg for mercy.

My heart thuds erratically.

My lungs feel like they’re going to give in.

But still, he’s right behind me. I can still feel his fingertips grazing my back. I can still hear his laughter at my ear.

Keep running… Keep running… You have to keep running.

And then, I stumble.

He is on me in an instant, grabbing my collar and lifting me up effortlessly.

“No!” I scream, kicking out.

But once again, my legs don’t find their target.

He is there, but he is not there.

There is no escape now. I’m sandwiched between a wall and the steel grip of his fist.

His humourless smile looms in front of me yet I can’t see his face.

“Dayyanah,” he speaks.

“No!” I scream again, trashing around wildly. “Leave me alone!”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he tightens his already suffocating hold on me and speaks again.

“You can run from your sister, but you will never be able to run from me.”

“You will never, ever, be able to run from me.”

And then he lets go of me and I’m falling.

This time, I don’t scream.

I can’t.

I want to, but I can’t.

Down, down, down I go, free falling into a bottomless hole.

His words echo around me, ringing in my ears repeatedly.

“You will never, ever, be able to run from me.”

“Never, ever, be able to run from me.”

“Never ever.. Never ever…”

My eyes shoot open.

“Never ever.. Never ever..”

I gasp for breath, sucking in air like my lungs depend on it. They do.

“Never ever.. Never ever..”

As I lay in bed, trying to calm my racing heart and rid my mind of its troubled illusions, I realize that he is right.

Paapa is right.

I will never be able to run from him, for he is not even here, yet I am at his mercy.

He is dead, but still, he is killing me.

download (2).jpg

As narrated by Zee:

Where is it, where is it, where is it?!

I can hear my phone ringing but I can’t seem to find it!

Following the sound, I rummage between the books on my desk.

Aha! There it is!

Just as I swipe my screen to answer Humairah’s skype call, she cancels.

Sitting down on my bed, I call her back.

“Heyyyy! Assalaamualaikum!” she greets, a huge grin on her face.

“Haaloooo! Wa’alaykum Salaam!” I reply, grinning too.

“How’s my favourite brother?” she asks, winking.

“Hey!” I hear Muaaz in the background. “I’m your favourite brother!”

“That was just for the duration of the time that I needed you to do me a favour,” Humairah yells back, laughing.

Her image starts shaking and everything goes blurry as she starts running.


A couple seconds later, Muaaz jumps onto her back and grabs the phone from her hand.

Clinging onto her neck, he holds the phone high, out of her reach.

“Assalaamualaikum baboon,” he says. “Don’t know which Zoo you came from, but please go back there and stop trying to get my sister to love you.”

“Why? Does she love gorillas better?” I ask, smirking.

Muaaz’s mouth drops open in shock and Humairah cackles with laughter.

“Savage,” mutters Muaaz. “Can’t deal, maaaaf.”

Humairah and I laugh uproariously as he slides off her back and gives her back her phone.

“Oh, come back here, you drama queen!” I call to him, still laughing.

“Let’s go to the lounge,” says Humairah.

They sit down on the sofa next to each other so that I can see them both and they both can see me.

“Sooo, we have neeewwws!!” says Humairah.

My smile drops a little.

“Good news, I hope?” I say.

Very good news! The best news you’ll ever hear!” says Muaaz.

“Oh shush you!” laughs Humairah.

“What is it?” I ask, eagerly.

Humairah opens her mouth to speak but Muaaz butts in.

“Well, obviously we’re not just going to tell you,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“You have to guess.”

download (3).jpg

Tagline Trouble

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

Hope all you wonderful people are doing well.

So, whilst setting up and personalizing a few things on our blog (in other words, whilst wasting time) I’ve come to realize that,

(Please read the number in order for it to sound how I want it to sound)

1. I lack creativity due to being unsure of what people would think 

2. I’m really indecisive. 

and 3. I am a master at procrastination.

Like, I don’t know why I write a blog. Writing isn’t my talent. Procrastination is. (But then again, I created this blog to procrastinate responsibilities so it comes back to the same thing.) 

Anyway, now that you know 3 more facts about me, I should stop talking about myself (in case you figure out who I am) and get to the point. 

As you can guess from the title of this post, after choosing a logo (which I’m probably going to end up changing because I’m not entirely chuffed with it), I moved onto creating a tagline. 

A tagline for those having a ‘what-the-heck-is-a-tagline?’ moment, is, according to google, “a catchphrase or slogan, especially as used in advertising, or the punchline of a joke”.

Baaaasically, it’s that sentence under the blog name. I could have just said that. But no, I will make you read more because reading is good. Reading improves your English (well, if you reading in English), makes vast your vocabulary, and teaches you new words every day. 

Okay, sorry, I’ll stop being a pest now. 

Right. So.

I’ve come up with a couple of taglines, and indecisive me doesn’t know which one to pick. So, I’m giving you, my blogamily (blog family) the task of choosing which one you’ll think we should use. 

If you don’t like any of them (I honestly won’t be offended, I only like one myself), please feel free to provide me with one. Sum up our blog in one sentence. I’m pretty sure you’ll are way more creative than me. You can comment your choice or send your own tagline down below. If you prefer, you can email me – troubled0311illusions@gmail.com

Below are the taglines you can choose from. 

  1. Broken bonds don’t have to stay broken.
  2. 5 friends on their journey through life, realizing that fate isn’t fairytale.
  3. Because you can forgive. But you never forget.
  4. A story of bruised bodies and broken bonds.
  5. Hopeless wishes of a distressed mind.

Eagerly awaiting your comments. 

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

One Hundred and Forty Eight

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

I’m not entirely happy with the first part of this post, but despite trying to fix it a couple of times, it’s just not coming out how I want it to. So here’s what I have. 

Much love,

Troubled Illusioner. 

(Baloo, this one is for you. ❤ Have a kick ass day!)

As narrated by Dayyanah:

Squeezing the dish washing soap bottle till just the right amount is in the sink, I open the hot water tap.

One and a half months ago, when Uncle Shuaib hired me as a dish washer, I was disappointed. Extremely disappointed.

I was working to earn. What would washing dishes earn me?!

But I guess beggars can’t be choosers..

I hate to admit it, but washing dishes isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. With my earphones plugged in, the noise around me drowned out, it’s kind of therapeutic.

Not this Sunday though.

I’m in a terrible mood. I had forgotten to put my phone to charge, and worse still, my earphones had decided that today would be the perfect day to stop working.

Swearing under my breath I wipe 3 oily pans with tissue before slipping them into the water and scrubbing them vigorously.

Trying my best to ignore the constant yelling of Uncle Shuaib, the annoying hiss of potatoes being thrown into oil, the clanging of dishes, and the uproarious laughter of diners, I focus on the task at hand.

1 more hour, Dayyanah. You’ve got this.

Time ticks away and the dishes keep coming in..

Turning around to reach for a pile of dirty plates on the counter behind me, I briefly glance up.

Jeez, we’re crazy busy tonight. 

“We’ll put those in the dishwasher,” says Florence, my co dish washer, who usually packs the machine.

“Will there be enough plates, though?” I ask. “This place is f****** packed.”

Florence walks away to check the situation.

Just then, a hush falls over the entire restaurant…

“There’s a bomb?!” a woman screeches hysterically, a moment later.

I stop, confused.

It’s silent now.

Dead silent…

But the silence lasts a mere second before utter chaos ensues.

Unafraid, my irritation growing rapidly, I use the opportunity to slip out.

Exiting the back door, I light a cigarette before I continue walking.

Leaning against the side wall of the restaurant, I lift the lit cigar to my lips.

Screams can still be heard from inside..

Adjusting my cap, I look towards the entrance, watching as people rush out in a mad frenzy.

I almost laugh out aloud.

Seriously?! What’s the big deal? We’re all gonna die, anyway.

Just as I turn my gaze away, back to the horizon, a voice shouts above the noise.


The tone is urgent, searching.


My eyes widening, I stand up straight.

I know that voice.

Searching the crowd, I go a little closer, stepping out of the shadows.

It’s him.

Just as I thought.


His hair is styled to perfection, his handsome face wearing an expression of slight desperation.

I watch as he pushes through the now somewhat calmer crowd.

“Car keys,” he yells. “Dad gave you the wrong ones. Here.”

My eyes follow as he throws a bunch of keys into the air..

A hand reaches up, catching it effortlessly..

Suddenly too much is happening at once.

The world seems to spin faster, trying to throw me off balance.

Ziyaad?!? That’s him?! That, is Zee?!?!

My god.

Moving on their own, my feet walk forward tentatively.

It’s only when I’m less than 20 feet away do I snap out of my trance.

‘F****** hell, Dayyanah! What are you doing?!’ I mentally chide myself.

But I can’t seem to look away..

He turns suddenly, looking around. I duck my head quickly, but it’s too late..

Recognition fills his eyes the instant he spots me.

“Oh crap! She’s outside!” I read his lips.

It is only when he moves do I  see her…


This time, everything slows down..

The crickets stop chirping and the dogs stop barking.

The trees stand still and leaves dare not rustle.

The wind, too courteous to steal Deeyanah’s gasp of shock, doesn’t blow.

The moon watches with bated breath from above, silently commanding the stars to shine theirs rays of hope a little brighter.

Ziyaad is tugging at her hand whilst Amaani talks to her desperately.

She doesn’t acknowledge them..

She’s oblivious to the world, as am I.

For a long time, we simply stand where we are, watching, staring, embedding the moment in our minds.

But then, Deeyanah moves…


Towards me…

Closing the distance between us.

Oh god, no! 

Panicking, I turn on my heel and sprint away.

images (2)

As narrated by Amz:

“Don’t shut me out, Dee.”

Silence follows my plea.

The lights are switched off, the room is dark. Dark because Dee likes it that way.

She’s sitting on the floor, her forehead pressed against the cold glass of the slightly open window.

“Please,” I beg.

She turns her face slowly and my gaze locks with hers.

The shimmering moonlight casts an eerie glow on her skin, bringing out the blueness of her eyes.

“Please talk to me,” I say quietly.

“Go to sleep, Amz. You’re tired,” she replies.

“I’m not going until you let it out,” I say. “Please Dee, you need to express yourself. You still haven’t even told me what happened that day when we went to your uncle’s place.”

“What happened?” she asks, frowning slightly. “When?”

“Just as we were leaving,” I answer. “Before Zee stepped in.”

“Oh,” says Dee.

“Nothing major, actually,” she continues after a pause.

I hold my breath..

“Maama asked if I’m in contact with Dayy, when last I heard from her and if she’s okay,” she says. “I.. well, the question.. it just caught me off guard, I guess.”

She turns away, her gaze on the black starless sky once again.

“No go to sleep,” she says quietly. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Her voice sounds faraway, devoid of any emotion.

“What about you?” I ask.

“I’ll sleep when I’m tired,” she replies after a long moment.

“You’re tired now, love,” I say gently.

“Go to sleep, Amz,” she says with a sigh. “I’m fine.”

I don’t move.

“So you’re going to sleep then?” I ask, despite already knowing the answer.

Her jaw clenches and she avoids my gaze again.

“I know you’re not going to sleep,” I say with a sigh. “And I know it’s because you’re afraid you might have a nightmare. Talk to me. Let it out. You’ll feel better, lighter. You know that.”

Torment lacing my words, I swallow hard, trying to fight the tears that threaten to spill.

But there’s no stopping them, for that is the way of the tears.

You can only hold back for so long.

You can only be strong for so long.

images (6)

images (2)

As narrated by Dee:

You’ve made her cry. You’re horrible and inconsiderate.

I reach for Amz’s hand, but she pulls it away and covers her face as she gets up.

“Amz,” I call, dashing after her.

I grab her hand, pull her towards me and envelop her in a hug.

“I’m sorry. God, don’t cry. Please,” I whisper, holding her tighter as she struggles to get away.

“You don’t have to be sorry!” she cries out. “Heck, why am I crying?!”

Slightly confused, I step back and wipe her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask, frowning.

“Yes,” replies Amz. “No. Gosh, I don’t know!”

My frown deepens.

“I’m so upset, Dee!” she exclaims, tears falling from her eyes. “You’re hurting so much and I can’t even do anything about it!”

Horrible and inconsiderate.

Horrible and inconsiderate.

You’re horrible and inconsiderate. 

“I.. Amz, I.. I’m fine. I.. honestly, I’m okay,” I stutter, at a loss for words.

“No you’re not!” argues Amz. “I know you’re not. But I don’t know how change that!”

Overwhelmed, I pull her into a hug again.

“I’ll feel much better if you’d stop crying,” I say.

“I’ll stop crying if you tell me what’s going on inside your head,” she replies.

I sigh inaudibly.

“It’s a mess inside my head,” I confess, sitting down on my bed.

Amz wipes her tears and sits down in front of me.

“I.. might say something.. that.. I shouldn’t,” I start after a moment, speaking slowly, choosing my words carefully.

Amz silently waits for me to continue.

“That’s why.. I don’t want to.. say anything.”

“At least tell me what you’re feeling,” Amz says quietly.

I fiddle with the hem of my T-shirt.

What am I feeling?

“Hate,” I say, avoiding Amz’s gaze.

“Towards who?” asks Amz.

I don’t answer for a long time.

“Dee,” probes Amz.

I take a deep breath, saying a silent prayer that my voice comes out strong.


“For what?” asks Amz.

“Everything,” I reply, after a couple of seconds.

Amz is quiet, her eyes watching my like a hawk.

I know that she understands, that I don’t have to explain myself any further.

And I know what she’s probably thinking as I look up and finally meet her eye.

You can’t make someone love them self, you can only love them.


Self-love, they say, is essential because,

It helps you grow,

helps you achieve your goals,

helps you through adversity.

They say self-love makes you happier,

makes you stronger,

makes you confident.

They say self-love allows you to be at peace,

to accept,

to let go.

They say self-love leaves no room for frustration,

for loneliness,

for sadness.

They say self-love gives birth to creativity,

to inspiration,

to productivity.

They say self-love enables you to be human,

to make mistakes,

to correct faults.

They say self-love teaches you the most important lesson:




Self love, they say, is most essential.

But here’s what they don’t tell you.

They don’t tell you how difficult it is,

to love yourself.

They don’t tell you how all the negatives suddenly become apparent when you’re trying to focus on the positive.

They don’t tell you how you’ll be judged.

How your confidence will be called snobbish. How your happiness will be called fake. How your goals will be called impossible. How your ambitions will be called ridiculous. How your make-up free face will be called ugly. How your acceptance will be called forced.

They don’t tell you about the voice inside your head.

God, that voice…

They don’t tell you how it pushes you 10 steps back before you can even take 1 step forward.

“Love yourself,” they say.

But how do I love myself when there is nothing about me to love.

download (2)

download (1).jpg


I close my journal and place my pen atop the printed cover.

Then, I switch off my bedside lamp and bury my head in my pillow.

Pulling the duvet tighter around my body, I close my eyes, praying that I’ll be okay, that I won’t have nightmares.

But, I do.

I always do.

Untitled 3.png

images (7)


One Hundred and Forty Seven

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

K.K. This one’s for you. Sending you cake and hugs and lots of love. See, I’m so nice. 😊❤

Next post on Sunday Insha Allah. 🌸

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

As narrated by Zee:

Nobody moves.

Then, all at once, they start asking questions.


“What happened?”

“Are you okay?”

“Is this a prank?”

“Hurry!” I say, grabbing Dee’s arm and pulling her off her chair.

She frowns, stumbling.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” she asks, looking at me worriedly.

“Yes,” I answer, trying to stay calm.

‘But if you don’t leave now, you’re not going to be okay,’ I want to add, but remain silent.

Pushing Dee behind my back, I mouth a desperate ‘Dayyanah’s here!’.

That seems to do it.

Uncle Ismaeel and Aunty Aadila stand up immediately, surprise evident on their faces.

“Who’s here?” Meez and Sumayya ask stupidly in unison.

Hamza glares at Sumayya, putting his finger to his lips; indicating to her to shut up.

Amz is already by Dee’s side. She grabs her arm and leads her to the door.

“Amz! What are you doing?!” protests Dee, irritation clear in her voice.

She suddenly stops abruptly, pinning her heels to the ground, causing me to knock into her back.

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” she asks, her voice rising.

“I’d like to know too. You’ll going on like a bomb’s about to drop!” adds Sumayya.

Heads turn and the couple at the table we’re standing next to get up in panic, causing their chairs to fall.

“There’s a bomb?!” screeches the lady.

The entire restaurant is looking at us now.

The rushing waiters have all come to a dead stop.

The sound of a glass crashing to the floor breaks the moment of tense silence.

“There’s a bomb?!” a panicked whisper comes from my left.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

“Oh no!” I mutter in dread.

“Ziyaad, take Amaani and get Deeyanah to the car. I’ll handle this,” Uncle Ismaeel commands quietly, giving me his keys. “The rest of you’ll stay here.”

“Just shut it and listen!” I yell sternly at Dee who opens her mouth, about to object.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I grab Dee’s other hand and pull her through the wild crowd of people trying to get out of the restaurant.

“There is no bomb!” I hear Uncle Ismaeel say in a calm, controlled, yet authoritative voice. “Please calm down. Let me explain.”

“What are you doing?!” screams a man.

I recognize his voice.

It’s the middle aged man who’d been shouting out orders in the kitchen.

It’s the boss.

I don’t glance behind me.

Instead, I push past the last person, holding firmly onto Dee’s hand so that she comes with me.

Stepping out into the cool night air with Dee next to me, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Jeez, is this the havoc a bomb scare causes?” I mutter, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans.

We wait a couple of seconds for Amz, who’s still stuck in the chaotic crowd.

Nervously I glance around, praying that Dayyanah is still in the kitchen.

But, of course, fate deals the worst cards to those who least deserve it.