Showing posts from March, 2017


There is a Pakistani saying: Medi goi khab aiyai? (Did I have a dream?) Well, yes actually, I have several dreams. And it's true that some of them I have absolutely no idea how I will fulfill any of them. For instance one of my dreams is to have a movie made of my story. Wow, imagine me on the big screen!! Okay, not me personally, but either Melissa McCarthy or Drew Barrymore. I guess I will leave that decision to the big-time-producers. And then I have the dream of my Sandi Sweet Coloring Book series to be in every Children's hospitals and domestic violence shelter across the nation; bringing a ray of peace and tranquility to those who are suffering the most. And then there's the dream of putting Bangles: My True Story of Escape, Adventure and Forgiveness in every domestic violence shelter library in the world. I know, that is a very tall order, isn't it? Well, how would I even begin to do this? A professional acquaintance of mine suggested that I take

Let's Talk About Prisoners Literature Project

This weekend I wanted to share an incredible project that I personally love supporting. The Prisoners Literature Project, located in California. They provide books for prisoners across America. Here's how they describe themselves. (Taken from the website: ) Who are we? The Prisoners Literature Project is an all-volunteer, non-profit group that sends free books directly to prisoners who request them from throughout the United States. Working almost continuously for thirty years, our U.S. prison books program has gotten (literally) tons of books into the American prison system, while staying overwhelmingly ‘grassroots’ – no full-time employees, no overhead eating up your donations. Our many volunteers for sending books to prisoners include radical librarians, soccer coaches, anarchists, old folks, teens, yoga devotees, LGBTQ activists, ex-prisoners, and book lovers — all united in the belief that everyone has the right to read.

A Call for a Butterfly Truce

Dearest Changed Butterfly, I watched you from afar as you went into flight. You were so effortless it seemed--your beauty unveiled for all to see. Your soft wings brushed up against the sky’s cheek with grace. God himself painted each and every of your population's wings; as if to carry a Morse Code of his love to all of the Earth. Your flutters kissed the air and the strings of my heart since the day I was a child. Yet, when I come to approach you the other day, you changed. Do you remember this weekend when I wanted to kiss you back? Something happened. You turned into a demon? Why? What happened to you? You fluttered about attacking me as if you had some vengeance to settle with me? Look butterfly menace. I want to settle this once and for all. Forgive my short-comings that I may have and let's move on in life. I want to be able to come to you and embrace your beauty that has been bestowed upon you. What do you say? Can we call it a truce? I love you, and I want

It's My Turn - Editorial Piece

My editorial piece written for an Arizona newspaper: (Publish date TBD) In March of 2014, I ended a two-decade-long manhunt by turning myself in, to the authorities at the Phoenix International Airport. They had been looking for me, Marsha Marie. Who would have thought that this once class clown would have her whole life turned upside down by keeping her silence? I was being sought for two counts of custodial interference involving my own two small children. I left the county in 1991 to escape the control of an abusive ex-husband. But now I’m back and spreading the message to the world of what I feel was my number one mistake—keeping his secret. I was married for five years and suffered bruising and suffocating control, but, I kept his dirty secret from the world. I should have shouted from the rooftops of his abuse; but I chose to stay quiet, causing severe depression and almost suicide. I ultimately accepted an invitation that would change my life—leave the States and move to a

No Salad For You!

No Salad For You! . When travelling the world, nothing makes you feel more at home, than to visit food chains that come straight from your hometown. I remember the time I drove 8 hours in Pakistan from Islamabad to Karachi just to visit McDonald's—I just had to have a big mac. Then one time in UAE, I drove two hours to get a burrito at Taco Bell in Dubai. It was these little things that kept me connected to home (America) during my domestic exile. So as often as I could, I would go to the Pizza Hut restaurant in Al Ain. It was one of my favorite hangouts, until one day, I bumped heads with the manager. It was one of our regular mother and daughter lunch dates, and we decided that we were in the mood for pizza; so we went over to our neighborhood Pizza Hut. It was still early in the day, so the place was pretty empty. We chose our seat, ordered our pizza and headed to the salad bar. So far everything was normal. Once our pizza came, our focus was diverted from our salad pla