Dear Mr Hunt

I am seriously sorry because this one is going to be a huge rant. I literally cannot even that is how annoyed I am right now.

Both of my parents are doctors, and they are about 15 months away from finishing their consultant training, but even with that amount of time to go they are still junior doctors.

Yes, this is an angry rant at Jeremy Hunt. And that was the introduction.

Dear Mr Hunt,

Hi. Let me introduce myself. I am the child of 2 junior doctors. Literally all my family are doctors. I am fourteen years old and originally being a doctor was one of my career choices but now I’m definitely not going in that direction. Can you guess why?

People are leaving Britain because they think that the NHS is going down the drain- to Canada, New Zealand, the USA, etc. because they know just how awful you are making the NHS. The main reason for this is that they know doctors will have to work longer hours for less pay, and this means that we have less doctors. Another problem caused by this contract is that less and less students will want to be doctors, much less work in the NHS, then we will have even less medics in England. That really doesn’t sound good does it?

Also, people do get tired after 10 hours of work. Doing this 6 days a week is absolutely ridiculous. Weekends are a time for rest, and more importantly a time for the family. If you look at the UN’s human rights act you will noticed that there is one right that you are in direct breach of- the right to a family life. While there is of course parents who don’t see their kids often, right now these are ones who do so by choice, but now you will be creating thousands of children whose parents are forced to spend ridiculous amounts of time away from them. You work about 2 days a week, never on Saturdays and are always pictured happy with your children. How would you feel if you only had about 11 hours a week to spend with your children? Or if you were a child whose parents missed every music concert, every debate, every single football game just because back in 2016 some posh bloke with zilch common sense decided they weren’t allowed to be with you?

Are you trying to make everyone resent you? Or do you just enjoy acting like Miss Trunchbull?

Another point of interest is how you constantly suggest things that would cause harm to junior doctors, and then you try to act like you’re actually on their side. And then you just kind of do this God-awful creepy smile like you’re trying to be nice, but it doesn’t make people like you it just infuriates them even more.

 Oh I’m sorry are you feeling bad? Do you not like being told you are a hypocrite and that you don’t work enough? Well tough because that’s exactly what you are doing to doctors all over England.

You know who else tried to destroy an establishment through means of ‘reform’? Umbridge,- and I am sure there is a lot of people hoping you get scared out of office by the Weasleys and a bunch of fireworks.

I’m sorry if you feel bad about everyone turning against you and protesting against your ideas. I’m so sorry if it hurts your ego when people insult you- it’s not like your out-of-context ‘statistics’ hurt the doctors who devote their lives to saving your life, or your mother’s life, your wife’s or your children’s.  And I’m especially sorry if you were hoping for an Ed Miliband-style group of supporters who would back you in everything you do, because there is no way that would happen.


An ordinary kid. (of junior doctor parentage)


0.1% Human

You can probably tell that this is about the refugee crisis. No points for that deduction. But what I really wanted to talk about was people’s attitudes towards it.

There are those who have posters on their front doors saying ‘refugees welcome here’, those who are opposed to apparently anyone other than themselves being in the country and then those who don’t really care, saying it’s not their problem.

Example one- a couple of months ago, we had a school trip to France. In the days leading up to the trip, our teachers rounded us up and gave us a lecture about the migrants, and not to be afraid if *heaven forbid* we saw one of these disgusting creatures, and I swear that was exactly what they were portraying them as. I naturally just ignored her, because I had better things to do on a Thursday lunchtime than listen to someone say people who are attempting to run to safety are more of a threat than the people they were running from.

On this trip the ferry stopped in Calais and we passed a refugee camp. And there were quite a lot  of refugees in the seaside town we went to, mainly close to the beach- but most of them were young, some even younger than me. None of them  seemed even vaguely dangerous. When we were walking over to the beach, just before we left, we passed this old man, with two kids with him. They were all leaning against this wall we passed, and I had about 80 euros left so I wanted to give some to them, because I knew I wasn’t going to spend it, but, I was walking with a friend of mine, and when she noticed I had slowed down, she gave me a bit of an evil look and that resulted in an argument over the treatment of refugees. A few other people may or may not have joined in.

We did have an incident on that trip, but it had nothing to do with refugees, just a group of idiotic teenage boys who thought it was funny to throw stuff at 11 year old girls, and punch random people.

Still, on the journey home the debate over migrants continued and the general view was that nobody really cared. I was just being over-emotional, and it was just ‘Maryam getting worked up over nothing again’.

In the last week, 3 year old Aylan Kurdi drowned trying to get to Canada, and suddenly everything changed. The people who were just mere days ago referred to as a ‘migrant swarm’ who were ‘invading our countries’ are suddenly being welcomed with open arms. It’s moments like these when you start to regain your faith in humanity, when people come to their senses and actually start to care about others, when they start to think ‘hey, maybe people who are far away are important as well’,  when they can  look at someone less fortunate and say ‘ hey, maybe I can help them.’, instead of writing them off. Just weeks ago nobody wanted to know about anyone- any of my friends, when asked about stuff like this, would just reply with ”it’s too far away, it doesn’t matter”- but hopefully now they might be more human.

Because I am just sick and tired of people not helping people because they’re in a different culture, a different country or continent, because at the end of the day we’re all humans and we need to help each other. I know I might sound like a total hippy weirdo preaching about peace and love, but seriously, we are all humans, and horrific things are happening all over the world to other human being, and we can’t just act like just because it isn’t happening here, now , to us, that it’s not happening.

In the film ‘Independence Day’, the president of America declares the 4th of July a holiday for the whole world, because it is the day when mankind finally set aside its differences to join together to fight the aliens. Now, if you take away the aliens and the president and the flying cigars, there is a lesson to be learnt- as humans, 99.9% of any given person’s DNA is identical to any other person, so how can we have so many disputes over 0.1% of our genetic code. 0.1% is 1/10 the amount of fat in skimmed milk. 0.1% is such a small number that it shouldn’t mean anything but it does. Yes, we are different, yes, we are unique- but we’re still one species, and we shouldn’t need a catastrophic event to unite us all.

At the end of the day, 0.1% shouldn’t divide us.

It should bring us together.


The Fallen

On Tuesday 16th December 2014 an attack was carried out on an army public school in Peshawar. 145+ people died. 132 of them were children. At least 130 more have been injured. More are still dying in hospital, while others fight for their lives. Why? Because the army of Pakistan dared to strike the Taliban, who were already causing so much trouble in people’s lives, in the whole world.

It seems a bit late to write this now. Five whole days have passed but the wound is still fresh. Every day the faces of small children flash onto the screen, and in each smiling little boy I see my eleven-year-old brother and my sixteen-month-old cousin, in the faces of the teachers I see my aunt, a nursery teacher in a school in Lahore. They all deserved better, they deserved to live their lives.

The remarkable thing is that, after all this devastation on Tuesday, those fit to come, returned. On Wednesday the children came back. Returned to their school, wore their blood-soaked uniforms. That says a lot. Those students, those teachers who returned, they are brave. In that one simple act of going back to school they have shown that they can’t bring us down.

When I was six years old, just after the 2007 bombing in Karachi, we were planning to go to visit Pakistan, to visit our family over there. So there I was, six years old, and I walked in on my parents talking. They thought it would be too dangerous to take us over there. They wanted us to be safe, out of harm’s way, as I am sure most parents must. They were actually discussing about cancelling tickets. I knew straight away the reason for that. I told them that we had to still go. I told them that if we stayed at home we were just doing what they wanted. They wanted people to stay away, to keep away from them, and if we cancelled we would be doing just that. So, in 2008, we all made our way to Pakistan, and all came back in one piece.

What I’m trying to get at here is that the people who do these kinds of things are trying to make us do something, or more correctly, stop doing something. If we, in fear of them simply comply, they have achieved their purpose- the real fight is against the fear inside us, the fear of what could happen if we don’t listen to their threats. They will keep using the same methods to get us to do what they want us to, and we can stand up to them by simply not agreeing. Malala Yousafzai came so far by simply fighting against the Taliban, and proved time after time that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword- and there is a change coming.

People who were once against anti-terrorism regimes are now baying for the blood of those who so brutally killed all those children. The whole of Pakistan is coming together as a country and all the countries are gradually coming together as one world. The people of the world are saying that enough is enough, and together we can stop this. Everyone who tries to fight will at some point be asked who they are fighting for. The answer to that is simple. We are fighting for the innocent children who are killed needlessly, not by malnutrition or childhood cancer, but by some men who thinks it is perfectly reasonable to shoot an eight-year-old. We are fighting for the teachers who protected their students until their last breaths, we are fighting for everyone who fell, but lives on in our hearts, our minds, our prayers, our wishes.

If anybody ever asks, we fight for the fallen.

Word for word-The first story I wrote

Everyone who writes has a cringeworthy first story, and thankfully it has only been eight years since I wrote my first, and I remember it word for word. when I was that age I always wrote stories because it made my parents smile a lot, and I hope this one makes you smile.- bearing in mind I was four when I wrote this.

So here it is: Fiona’s Surprise.

Fiona’s  Surprise

Once upon a time there was a princess called Fiona. One Day it was her birthday and Fiona was coming back from school. When she got back to the palace she found out that her mum and dad  had thrown her a party. She was really happy and she had a lot of cake and she got lots and lots of big presents. It was the best birthday ever. The next day she went to school and she was a teacher and she liked telling the kids the alphabet. There was a great big dragon on the playground and it breathed fire. The kids got scared. Fiona was scared of the dragon but Prince Charming came and chased the dragon away. Everyone was safe and then Prince Charming and Princess Fiona got married and they all lived happily ever after.


Please don’t think this is a stupid piece of writing, I swear it is the work of a princess and Shrek obsessed four year old.

Chapter Three of Ice Story

Chloe froze. Nobody rang their doorbell. No-one. Not ever. So who was this? Was it the landlady, coming to evict them? She was sure she had paid Sue the rent for the next four months. There was no way it was her, was there?


“I’m sorry Craig, but your wife has Osteomalacia. She may need a break, Alaska is not the best place for sunlight, now, is it?”

A girl sat outside the doctor’s surgery, and her eyes widened in shock. Her mother couldn’t have that big word disease, could she? This couldn’t be happening. She was only ten years old, what could she have done to deserve this? Her dad had only just lost his job, and now her mum was going to die. She didn’t know what was happening, she just knew they would never be able to afford her mother’s medicine, or a trip abroad, or that food the doctor was recommending. She didn’t know. She didn’t know.


She didn’t know. As she walked to the door she didn’t know what was happening, or what she had done to deserve this. She didn’t know.

Her hand shuddered as she went forward to turn the doorknob- partly because it was cold, partly because she was scared- but when she opened it she heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Sue. It was a young woman, in her mid-twenties, with scraggly blond hair that had frozen to her head in the subzero temperature. Her jacket was ripped and her clothes were caked in mud, and her shoes had more holes than her gran’s crocheted teddy bear, but the fact that it wasn’t Sue cancelled out the effects of the woman’s appearance.

“My name’s Sarah Hardy, and I really need somewhere to sit down.” her voice was rough and hoarse, but through what was obviously a bad cold, Chloe could hear a trace of a British accent.

“Chloe Wilson. And you can come in, you’ll freeze out there.” she may have  been broke, but Chloe wasn’t heartless. “So, how did you get like,” she stopped, hoping not to offend her “this?” Sarah could see her looking at her attire, slightly perturbed.

“I, um, long story.”

“We’ve got time.”


“You can’t just eat so we don’t need to pay for your medicine!”

“I would if you could get a job to get food!”

Chloe closed the door quietly and went to her room, trying to ignore her parents’ voices, but still they continued. She lay, curled up on her bed, her fingers in her ears and her pillow in between her elbows. She lay, hoping for a better day tomorrow.


It took Sarah nearly twenty minutes to explain how she had been kidnapped, and how she had seen her fourteen year old brother for a brief moment before she ran away from the men who had taken her.

“Whoa.” Chloe felt stupid for taking pity on herself, while this girl had been through it all and was still humble. “We’ll help you.”

“Don’t worry.” Sarah said, but Chloe couldn’t help it, “I just needed somewhere to sit.”


The sun hit Chloe’s face and woke her up immediately, its warm light urging her to leave her bed, telling her that this would be a better day, a brighter day, a happier day.

She opened the door and crept down the stairs, trying her hardest to pretend the loud sobs she could hear were tears of laughter, that what she was fearing hadn’t happened.

“Mom, what happened?” she asked, but she already knew what her mother was going to say.

“Your dad’s left, dear. We just thought it would be better.”

But Chloe knew her mother didn’t think it would be better. She wanted to pretend it was all a dream. Mom would be gone in less than a month if she didn’t find money to pay for her medicine. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

But she had to.


“Thanks for the bread, Chloe.” Chloe had given Sarah an old jacket of her mother’s and her dad’s old boots before she had forced her to let her leave.

“Any time.” she wished that there was more she could do. “And if I see your brother, I’ll try my best to find you.”

“I’ll make sure you can.”

I remember- when my mum had cancer

It may never seem so, but this one’s from the heart.

Nobody really expects me to remember much about when my mum had cancer, but sometimes, bits shine through. I remember my dad crying silently when we went to visit her. I remember my aunt, who was nine months pregnant, dropping everything and coming to our aid. I remember how my mum got diagnosed the day we got handed the keys to our house. I remember the whole family trip to the beach my grandparents organised to keep my mind off of my ill mum. I remember how, through all of it, my mum was always smiling and telling me to be glad we were still together then.

I remember

I remember how my dad and my uncles used to take it in turns to take me to school on their shoulders, so that I could never feel that my mum wasn’t there. My aunt used to cook for us every day, so we wouldn’t feel the lack of my mum’s cooking. When her baby daughter was born, it was really good for us. It made everyone happy after so much sadness. I guess maybe she helped my mum get through as well. She always says to me now that she only got through because she was fighting for something. She says she was fighting so she could see us get older and so we would never feel the lack of a mother like she did, so we’d always have her there.

I remember.

It seems silly now, nine years on, that all that’s left is the scar of the fear, the strength of the hope and the ‘I remembers’ from the girl who was only five when it all ended. When I was three years old I already knew how to call 999 and tell them if anything happened. I had to know. My mum was allowed to take care of me, but who would take care of her?

I remember.

I bet if my mum was writing this there would be five hundred pages by now. Her own mother passed away when she was fifteen, and I guess mum must have been afraid that would happen to her. But my mum can’t write this right now, because she’s downstairs with my dad, in front of the fireplace, happy and warm, because now she’s seen all of those things she never thought she would live to witness. My first day at secondary school, her 40th, my little brother’s 10th.

I remember

I’m near to tears now, because I can never know what she was going through quite as well as she does. Did it hurt? Was it hard to smile all the way through? Could she have ever done it without my dad, her siblings and her dad?

I remember

It seems ridiculous, when I think about it, that I could think of my problems with Barbie now as bad. I’m writing this at eleven pm on New Year’s Eve, but the words just keep on coming. Nine years ago my mum fought cancer and she won. My mum. My own mother. She battled every day for six months through intensive chemotherapy and a further year and a half recovering, taking frequent trips to the hospital, all so she could see me grow up. All of us can look at her as an example in our lives, because there is always something or someone worth fighting for. She hoped, when everything was dark and the world looked bleak, she hoped. Not a day goes by when I’m not inspired by my mum, because she is a living reminder, that no matter how bad things seem, nothing can destroy hope, and love, and if you just wish hard enough, that little spark of hope can turn into the biggest of fires, that’ll be all you need to come out of the darkness.

So here’s to all of those people who are fighting cancer now, for everyone who survived cancer and everyone who didn’t.
Here’s to everyone who’s fought or is fighting to see their loved ones at this new year, this new start. Here’s to them all, everyone who can look upon New Year’s Day as a new start, as a chance to leave behind, but never forget, the dark times they’ve faced and start anew.
Happy New Year and I HOPE 2014 will be your best year yet.