Dear Diary…

Dear diary,

There is nothing else I can think of except him. First, ages ago I just thought he woz cute but slowly it turned into a crush, then love, but now it’s an obsession. I can’t live without seeing him, he’s like a drug, if I don’t see him I become restless, I see him everywhere….


So here’s a confession – I’m a bit of a hippie-dippie at heart. Eden Phillpotts’ quote ‘the universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper’ wholly resonates with me. I believe in the magic of the universe. My entire being can perhaps be summed up in a few words: the soul of a gypsy, the fire of a lioness, the heart of a hippie, and yes… the mouth of a sailor. My curiosity, coupled with a heavy dose of childlike excitement often takes me to the strangest of places.

8 May 2020: whilst browsing, I stumble upon an unusual listing: “I will draw your twin flame with accuracy within 24 hours”. Bullshit I think, as I read through the ThePsychicArtist’s seemingly exaggerated claims. He promises not only to draw your twin flame but also to provide you with a description of their character. The reviews seem appropriately falsified:

Do I believe that a psychic can draw my twin flame? No. It has scam written all over it. Do I part with $33? Well, of course.

9 May 2020 [09:24]: ThePsychicArtist’s email lands in my inbox with a warning that the sketch should not be shared with anyone else. Alright scam artist I think, almost rolling my eyes into another dimension. A shadow of guilt begins to darken my eyes as I realise that the money could have been donated to a cause more noble than lining the pockets of a fraudster. I mean why else would I not be able to share it if he wasn’t trying to recycle the sketches?

I refuse to let this dampen my spirit, and decide that I will share my latest adventure with my girlfriends regardless. I swiftly justify my purchase in the name of entertainment and shut down the internal chatter. With my morning tea in hand, I head towards my favourite spot in the living room – my two seater leather sofa. Surrendering to my childlike excitement, I quietly chuckle to myself as I hope to find a sketch of a short, fat, balding egghead who was probably named Rizwan at birth.

I’m caught off-guard by the first paragraph. The description in the first sentence alone brings to mind someone that I already know. Knob head, I say out loud, as I shove him firmly back into the ‘do not enter’ zone of my mind. Skimming through the remaining description much faster than I had intended, it’s finally time to view the sketch of this so called twin flame. Once downloaded, I spend all of 10 seconds looking at it before I put my phone away. It’s not anyone that I know.

It’s almost 3pm before I’m willing to admit that something is in fact bothering me. I’m great at blocking things out of my mind, but I just can’t shake this one off. It’s the sort of uneasy feeling that I get when I see people touching the pedestrian crossing button. You see, my theory is that people don’t wash their hands. I’m therefore convinced that pedestrian crossing buttons contain traces of semen. You know… person A touches the button with his unwashed right hand that has just provided a two minutes and twelve seconds service elsewhere. Innocent bystander B touches the button, and picks up a smidgen of semen – unknowingly touching their clothes, face, and God forbid… mouth… ah… salty. I call it ‘the wank button’ for a reason.

Anyway, I know what I have to do. I dive back into my emails to look at the sketch again. Now that I’m willing to be honest, I saw it straight away. I scroll down my WhatsApp contacts until I find the person I’m looking for. Fuck. I see it clearly. The left hemisphere of my brain however requires further evidence – I am after all, a bloody lawyer. I place both images into a collage frame to assess the evidence. One third of the sketch is an identical copy of this man’s WhatsApp display pic. The long neck, the shape of his jaw, the way in which the hair is styled, and every stroke of the stubble accurately mirrors his display pic. It’s almost as if the artist produced part of the sketch using the very same photo, whilst sympathetically giving him a 12ml dose of much needed lip fillers. Turning back to his display pic, I tenderly whisper the most romantic word in my advanced Punjabi vocabulary: panchod, as I mentally screw up the sketch and throw it over the fence for my neighbour’s dog Soca to chew on.

A few weeks later, whilst discussing the difference between soulmates and twin flames, I casually mention the artist to my sister. Like me, she of course isn’t surprised by who the sketch resembles, but is stunned by ThePsychicArtist’s abilities. I see a little glint in her eyes as she toys with the idea of purchasing one herself. “You can if you want to” I say with some uncertainty. I’m hoping though, she won’t. She’s been with Abraham for almost a decade. Despite his head being the size of a watermelon, he’s an alright guy.

“Well he definitely isn’t my twin flame…” she laughs, thinking of Abraham. “He is more like my best friend… he’s loyal… omg maybe he was my dog in a past life… baji [sister] can you have a soulmate dog?” she asks, as though I have all the answers. In that moment, our thoughts turn to the same person – Ali. Pulling a sour face, she says “omg, imagine if it were Ali… eww”. Not one to miss an opportunity, from memory, I theatrically recite a passage from her 2007 diary – aka ‘the love journey’. “STOP” she begs, trying to forget her childhood trauma.

Yes, I’d sneak into my little sister’s room to read her personal diary. No, I have no regrets. More dramatic than an episode of the Love Island, her school life was heavily influenced by Bollywood twists and turns – a bit like a ‘90s Karan Johar movie. It was addictive. Her person of interest was a boy named Ali. How did she feel about him? Well, let’s find out…

<Flashback> January 2007:

“I love him a lot but he duznt luv me, he duznt give me any attention at all, and it hurts my heart! If I got his luv it would mean the world 2 me but I just know that its neva guna happen. Wishes + dreamz neva cum true and hope neva helps! Whenever he luks at me, I feel special, but I no I’m not, when he smiled at me, I felt I woz on top of the world, whenever he takes my name, my body tingles from inside, whenever he talks to me, I feel like I’m in a dream world with just me and him and loads of stars twinkling around us..”

Some days were of course good, when she managed to do her half-pony:

Other days, well… she wasn’t so sure:

One unfortunate day though, she thought she lost the love of her life. Those wicked witches Neena and Jessica, trying to take what should have been hers:

<Fast forward> 9 July 2020:

I receive a WhatsApp message from Abraham. My sister and I celebrate our birthdays soon, and he can’t think of what to buy her. His choice in gifts is questionable at the best of times (i.e. a custom made wooden …. box), but this year it seems that he has really lost the plot:

Newsflash: she… doesn’t… like… Lego.

Less than an hour after I save his ass from being buried under our patio, I look up to see my sister glaring at her phone. Eyebrows tightly knitted, I see the shadow of annoyance wrapped around her face. Oh you plonker, I think, as I realise Abraham has told her what he had been planning on buying her. She looks up. “LEGO?!. If he had wasted £400 on Lego, I’d shank him” she barks at me. “Why does he think spending a lot of money makes a good gift?! He looked up luxury gifts!!! Luxury!!! Me?!!! How does he not know me in 10 years?!”. I hold in my giggle, and message Abraham a new gift idea “relationship counselling?”. He promptly responds “I fucked up lmao”. Oh, he really did.

The next morning she grins at me. I recognise that look – she gets it from me. Sweet revenge. Poor boy, I think. “So baji… last night, I purchased the twin flame drawing. That’ll wind him up” she says, looking satisfied. Ok, I admit. I’m beaming with pride. That’s my girl, I cackle like an evil witch. She doesn’t buy it from the same psychic though, and I suspect that’s because she wouldn’t really want to know.

Hours later we are looking at the photo of this alleged twin flame… we exchange ‘err is this actually Ali?!’ looks. A bit of Google stalking later, we are satisfied that’s not him. She is of course not stupid enough to end a relationship based on a sketch, but she gets her satisfaction when he reacts:

Whilst my sister and Ali don’t end up riding into the sunset together, her ‘love journey’ nonetheless continues to be a great source of entertainment for me. These days, Ali can be found playing football with Abraham and their mutual friends (#awkward). I’m quite certain that Abraham would prefer to substitute the football with Ali’s head… ah… true love.

If I’m not murdered and buried under my patio for splashing my sister’s diary all over the internet… until next time…

The Accidental Lawyer