Soul - shaken. Words - stuttered, jumbled, even nonsensical at times.

It was over five years ago. I had not actually seen anything happen in front of me except the after-effects. Up until recently, I have never been able to talk about it. Even when I did, this mashed up, shaken account came out. I do not know how they do it. The people who live through it for so long, how do the do it? How do they live? Are they even human or just empty shells? Is that the reason we have so many disturbed souls around? For soldiers, the trauma is recognized and treated, what about the ones who never get such support? What are we doing to this world of ours? These fellow human beings of ours?

It doesn't make sense to me. It does not make sense at all. Where is the humanity?

I do not know what else to say, so here is my account:

"Now this is something I can relate to. When the IIUI bomb blast happened, I was exiting the university. Given the size of the place, I did not really notice what happened. (Plus I was on the phone chattering away happily with a friend and still focusing the rest of my energies at being mad at the driver who won't stop the car in front of the university grocery store due to the heightened security measures that day)

I was living in another university's dorms at the time. Our mess/ dining hall used t be in the basement. It had been a long, tiring day at school, typical me had gone without breakfast so I was starving by now. I finished my conversation and rushed to the basement (no phone signals there).

I am sitting there, finishing my second plate of haleem (yum- i did love their food) when somehow my phone shrilled in my backpack. I was surprised that it rang, because remember, no signals. I was even more surprised that it was the warden of the very hostel I was in. Technically I was sitting right under her office.

I picked up.

"What are you doing?" She almost yelled at me.

"Err, finishing my haleem" I replied taken aback.

"Where are you?" She asked in the same voice.

"Under you." I tried a not-so-suitable-for-the-moment-joke but then corrected myself, "I mean, in the basement"

"You are here? You are in the basement here?" I heard a voice that sounded mildly disbelieving.

"Err, yeah." *thinking, what happened to her*

"See me as soon as you are done. I am in my office. Oh, and call your mom."

Now that threw me in a panic mode. Why was she telling me to call my mom.

"Why? What happened?" I was the manic one now.

"Nothing happened. Finish your food and come see me."

I ran upstairs, skipping as many steps as I could at a time. No elevators there.

"What happened?" I almost yelled as I barged into her office.

Turns out the bomb blast had been in my faculty. The warden had been one of the people trying to reach me but my phone had been either busy or out of service area.

I talked to my crying mother, explained the situation to my father, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, grandparents, (my brother didnt know of it yet) one by one on automaton.

Stunned, I came out of the office to get several bear hugs from a lot of people I had just nodded to in hallways and maybe sometimes talked to. The entourage ended up in the main sitting room where more news was pouring out of the TV.

Needless to say I couldnt believe the carnage I was seeing. The blockade the rest of the students were going thru. The complete power outage. The trapped students in the cars. The fear. The confusion. The rallying in of positive spirits. The stunned faces. A lot more things, a lot harder to put in words.

One of my brothers-in-law came over and ordered me out of the hostel with him. He disregarded my protests to be where all my friends and ofcourse, my university was and threatened to pack my stuff himself if I didnt do it in fifteen minutes.

"We need you where we can see you" he said.

Now you can only tell how scary-looking he is when you actually see him. It had taken me days to get comfortable enough to talk around him. And I believe this day was actually the first time that he had said more than a greeting to me. On the way to his home, where his wife, my cousin, had gathered all her side of the family, I discovered he was at work when he had seen the news and called his wife to get the house ready and that he was going to pick me up. Now, he is as much of a workaholic as he is scary-looking, so that really threw me off.

Wow. Thats all I could think.

At their house, I was given the master bedroom where I could sit and watch TV in peace in bed. So many people, I had forgotten I even knew were calling and checking up on me.

Then, that evening, Annum Munir called.

She asked me just like other people did about what had happened and all...but then her mom took the phone from her.

She talked to me about how shocked they all were and how everyone had been so stunned when they heard the news and then they figured out it wasn't me. It was still heartbreaking about the loss of lives in the university and the faculty etc but she was glad that I was fine.

I was quiet confused by now. Why would she think that I was...dead.

What had happened was that for about the thirty minutes that I had spent riding the taxi, enjoying a nice long chat and then delicious haleem...the world had believed that I was dead sincethe very first news report that had come out on TV channels was that the had been a bomb blast at the women's cafe and marketplace and the faculty of shariah and law at the university and that a student named Amna Amir was one of the martyrs. Turned out later that the student who had passed away was actually Amna Tahir, an English major, not Amna Amir, the Shariah and Law major aka me.

The long story short, read the tweet below.

Moral of the story for me: I realized for the first time in my life how many people I knew and was cared for by.

But really, the night passed in that same panicked rush with gruesome headline after gruesome headline with nauseating commentary, tactless and merciless hysteria creation aka rating increasing tactics. I wen thru the motions but it actually did not sink in till th mrning after. I remember that moment vividly. I woke up Fajr the next morning, I was in the middle of making wudu, when I looked at myself in the mirror, and the first thought that came to my mind was that 'I am alive'. It was such a sinking realization that I could barely stand anymore. I sat on the toilet seat and looked at my limbs. Just looked at them and thought over and over..I am alive. And it was very much possible that I wouldnt have been. I mean, I had been begging the taxi driver to stop at the market that got blown up about four minutes later. It could've been me but i am alive.

That morning, still gives me shivers.