What do you do when your hands are busy with college assignments, but your heart is grieving a world that won’t stop burning? Do you keep doodling like everything’s cute and cozy, or do you start scribbling what really itches your conscience — the hypocrisy, the violence, the silence, the fear??
Let’s get one thing straight—this post isn’t about sunsets, coffee dates, or my Pinterest dreams. This post is about the world crumbling, and why I can’t keep sipping tea while bombs are dropping across borders.
I’ve always said Witty Scribbles is my corner of the internet. And corners? They’re sharp. They cut. And today, this space is evolving—from soft scribbles to sharp takes. Yes, I’ll still romanticize street lamps and bad metaphors. But now, I’m also here to drag hypocrisy, dissect foreign policy, and speak what most people scroll past.
So, welcome to the new Witty Scribbles. Where cutesy meets crisis. Where a first-year Political Science student decides she’s done being quiet. Because even scribbles can scream when the world needs it.
Why The Shift? Because Shit’s Getting Real
This isn’t a rebrand. It’s a reclaiming. When international politics starts affecting the way you feel about your own damn country’s safety, you stop pretending it’s just “foreign affairs.”
If you’ve followed WittyScribbles, you know this space was never about politics or policy. It was about poetry tucked between paragraphs. It was about finding softness in a hard world. But the world stopped being just hard—it became unrecognizable. And no amount of metaphors can hide the sound of bullets.
When masked militants parade as Indian soldiers and behead real ones—what am I supposed to do? Post about sunsets and slow mornings? When global headlines reduce martyrdom to a passing line and then rush to restore “diplomatic balance,” should I light another scented candle and pretend it’s fine?
It’s not fine. It’s never been fine.
This shift is not just me writing about conflict. It’s me refusing to polish pain just because discomfort ruins aesthetic feeds. It’s me deciding that my voice—however small—is better used calling out hypocrisy than curating soft captions for soft hearts.
Because if my country bleeds, my content bleed too!!
Pakistan & The Playbook of Hypocrisy
If gaslighting were a country, it would have a green flag and nukes.
Let’s be real: Pakistan’s entire diplomatic career could be turned into a Netflix dark comedy. A country that cries victimhood with one breath and funds terror with the next—and then posts “Peace begins with a smile” on Twitter. You cannot make this up.
They sign ceasefires the way some people sign up for gym memberships—zero intent to follow through. Case in point: cross-border shelling right after a “full ceasefire agreement.” And when caught? Suddenly they’re the victim again. A tragic little cycle of denial, deception, and dramatics.
The ceasefire was supposed to mean something. But minutes after the announcement, Pakistan shelled Indian border villages. Again. No more whitewashing. Yes — it is a terrorist country, and no, we’re not sorry for calling it out. Victimhood cannot be weaponized when your ruling class thrives on starving its own people and attacking neighbors. This isn’t diplomacy. This is delusion funded by global pity.
And oh, the obsession with India? Honestly, rent-free doesn’t even cut it anymore. It’s more like a lifetime lease. From their textbooks to their newsrooms, everything seems to boil down to one emotion: envy wrapped in paranoia, cooked over decades of insecurity.
But let’s now talk about the billion-dollar elephant in the room: the IMF. The one out there, playing sugar daddy, writing cheques while pretending not to notice where the money ends up. Development?? Sure. The world watches as Pakistan knocks on the IMF’s door every other year, crying about a collapsing economy. The IMF, like that overly generous relative who just can’t say no, hands over the money. And where does that money go?
Not into schools, not into hospitals, not into stabilising the economy. It goes into shiny military parades, cross-border mischief, and quite possibly designing camouflage uniforms to sneak across borders undetected. It’s almost poetic—funded destruction masquerading as development.
And let’s not pretend the IMF doesn’t know. These aren’t naïve loans—they’re well-documented bailouts with an unspoken clause: “We’ll pretend we don’t see how you’re spending it if you pretend you’ll reform.” Spoiler alert: no one reforms. It’s the most dangerous kind of international co-dependency.
Meanwhile, Pakistan continues to play the role of the misunderstood neighbour with crocodile tears and shaky press conferences, while its actions scream otherwise.
Because hypocrisy looks best when dipped in green and seasoned with billion-dollar pity.
USA : Mediator or Master Manipulator??
Ceasefire by day. Shellfire by night. Peace treaties shouldn’t come with expiration dates shorter than a TikTok trend.
Now enters the United States — the self-proclaimed peacemaker who brings a fire extinguisher to the same blaze it helped ignite. One moment, they’re brokering a ceasefire, and the next, they’re looking the other way as it crumbles overnight. Ask yourself: who benefits from all this chaos management masquerading as diplomacy?
Let’s not be fooled by performative neutrality. On the surface, the U.S. claims to back India — strategic partner, democracy buddy, quad this, quad that. But behind closed doors, it tiptoes into Pakistan’s DMs, wiring aid, arms, and IMF nods like it’s ordering Uber Eats. India’s national security is not a balancing act, it’s a red line — yet Washington keeps dancing on it like it’s a Broadway audition.
And then there’s the IMF again — the fancy financial wing of Western diplomacy. Every dollar funnelled into Pakistan’s “recovery” gets a quiet greenlight from the U.S. The result? More oxygen for a regime that uses economic aid as political fuel. And everyone in the room knows it.
America keeps throwing band-aids on bullet wounds it helped inflict. It funds, it mediates, it postures — all while pretending to be above the mess. But if this region is a chessboard, let’s be honest: the U.S. isn’t a peacekeeping pawn. It’s the player holding both black and white pieces.
America’s PR game is stronger than its foreign policy. Trying so hard to look like the hero while sponsoring the instability it later claims to “fix.”
Stop pretending, Uncle Sam. Your hands aren’t clean.
UNheard, UNseen, UNbothered — Ceasefires & PR Stunts
Let’s talk about the United Nations, or as I like to call it, “The Great Diplomatic Whisperer.” In this ongoing crisis, its voice has been so faint that even the wind is struggling to hear it. Sure, the UN has made statements, “encouraging dialogue” and “calling for restraint“. How profound!! Meanwhile, the world burns, and the UN issues a tweet and hopes it’ll extinguish the flames.
Yes, they’ve “expressed concern” — a classic move. They’ve “urged both sides to de-escalate.” Oh, the wisdom of the UN’s all-knowing and all-silent diplomacy. But when push comes to shove, where are they on the front lines? Where’s the emergency session, the swift action, the proactive peacekeeping they’re supposed to be known for?
Instead, the heavy lifting of mediating this mess was picked up by Uncle Trump. Of course, he didn’t just waltz in like a good Samaritan; he rolled up with a ceasefire deal, which, let’s be honest, lasted about less than even a Snapchat story.
Let’s call it what it is — a Western PR stunt for Western audiences. A carefully curated narrative that goes, “Look, we did something!” while the ground reality rots beneath it. This was less about peace and more about public perception.
But hey, at least the UN’s “concern” is loud enough for the people in charge to hear it, right? And let’s not forget, they’ve been “active” in their own way… at least in the world of statements and appeals.
Conclusion: Not Writing for Peace, but Because Peace Is Nowhere to Be Found
So why now?
Because silence started to rot.Because every day I posted pretty words and pretty pictures, knowing what was happening — and choosing to stay neutral — I felt the quiet guilt pile up. Because neutrality isn’t peacekeeping. It’s privilege dressed up as perspective.
I don’t write this from a place of clarity or closure.I write this because nothing feels clear anymore — and that’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said on this blog.This isn’t content. This isn’t for clicks. This isn’t aesthetic.
This is me, angry.This is me, done being numb.This is me, saying — you’re allowed to feel everything too.
You don’t have to agree with me. But if you’ve read this far, maybe sit with it.If something in this stirred you, then talk about it. Comment. Vent. Disagree. Share your version. Anything but indifference.
Because I’m not writing to be right anymore. I’m writing because silence stopped feeling safe. Your thoughts are welcome — the messy, the honest, the angry. Drop them below.
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