My Summer Hostage Situation

Listen, I need to get this off my sweaty, mosquito-bitten chest.

I live in Karachi. Yes, that Karachi. The one where the sun doesn’t rise—it attacks. Where electricity is more of a rumor than a utility. And where I am personally being hunted every night by a bloodthirsty battalion of mosquitoes who clearly graduated top of their class in Vampire Academy.

It’s not even summer anymore. It’s a hell internship.

I sleep shirtless, fan-less, and faith-less. The power goes out every 23 minutes like it’s on some toxic relationship cycle. I’ll be lying there in the dark, finally drifting into a peaceful coma when—BZZZZZZZ—a mosquito flies straight into my ear like it’s whispering death threats.

I’ve developed PTSD from fan sounds. I hear a whirl and I’m like, “IS THAT YOU, MY LOVE?!”

But no. Just the neighbor's fan. Mine’s dead again. Rest in power. Oh wait, there isn’t any.

Every night, I basically audition for The Walking Dead. Only the zombies are real, and they're all mosquitoes, and they don’t want brains—they want my damn blood. And I’m just there, shirt pulled over my face, whispering, “Please just take me. Make it quick.”

I slap myself in the dark so much, I might qualify as a UFC fighter. No AC. No light. Just me vs a bunch of tiny airborne demons with needles for faces.

And the worst part? I KNOW THEY WAIT. Like, they legit wait for the power to go out. It's like they sit in the corners like, “Boys, wait for it… wait for it… LIGHTS OUT! GO GO GO!” And they charge like it's a coordinated military op. Delta Squad Mosquito reporting for blood duty, sir!

Sometimes the light comes back for 7 seconds. Just enough time for me to feel hope again. Then—boom. Darkness. Silence. Regret. I stare at the ceiling, praying to a God of WAPDA that clearly stopped listening.

Last week, I tried sleeping outside for fresh air. I got dive-bombed by flying cockroaches and saw a rat fight a lizard. Nature’s MMA, folks. Tickets were free. Trauma was permanent.

I just wanna shower without sweating more during the shower than I did before it.

I just wanna sleep without waking up with 12 new holes in my body and a mosquito standing over me smoking a cigarette like it just finished a successful heist.

I want to look at a ceiling fan without crying.

Is that too much to ask?

Anyway. I’ll update you again if I survive the week. If not, avenge me. Or at least spray some repellent in my memory.

And don’t even get me started on the backup generator. It groans louder than I do during load-shedding. Last night, it started coughing like an old man running a marathon in flip-flops. Honestly, if the mosquitoes don’t get me, carbon monoxide poisoning probably will. But hey—at least I’ll go out warm.

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