What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?
I think you only truly become an adult when you lose the person who made you feel safe in a world where people are always looking for your vulnerabilities. For me, that person was my father. Whenever I fell, I knew he would be there. No matter what. Any issue, Aba was just a call away. If I needed emotional support, he was there, giving me his undivided attention. If I wanted something, I knew I could ask him. He rarely ever said no to me. I never had to question who had my back.
Losing him made me realize that life doesn’t stop when you lose your biggest support. You just have to learn to pick yourself up, protect yourself, and keep going. Even on the days when you want to give up, when all you want is them, when all you want is to feel safe again. I think that’s the hardest part of growing up: realizing that the person who always made you feel like you could handle anything is no longer there to catch you when you fall. And that has changed something in me. I am no longer the person I was. That’s what grief does to you, it changes you into a someone else. You know you’re no longer anyone’s priority anymore. It does make you strong. You grow a thicker skin to deal with this world and its people.
Describe a positive thing a family member has done for you.
When people ask me to name one good thing a family member has done for me, I can’t. It was never just one thing. It was a lifetime of love. Loving me, protecting me, choosing me, standing by me no matter what. That is what family means to me.
For me, that love came from my father.
He gave me a world where I felt safe, valued, and free. Coming from a feudal Baloch background, I know how limited life can be for girls. But he never let that become my reality. He protected me from those boundaries and gave me a life many girls only dream of.
Sometimes I think about it and realise how much he gave me without ever making it feel like a burden. He did not just protect me from the world, he prepared me for it in the most gentle way.
After losing him, I finally saw how harsh the world can be. He had been shielding me all along.
Aba, not having you here is a pain I carry every day. But everything you gave me still lives in me. I will always love you. I will always be grateful.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
Some of the most profound lessons I’ve carried in life weren’t from books or lectures—they were from conversations with my father. His words were simple, but they’ve stayed with me, guiding me through moments of confusion, growth, and change.
Do good and forget about it.
Goodness is not a transaction—it’s a reflection of who you are. When you do something kind, don’t wait for recognition or repayment. Life has its own way of returning what you give, sometimes in ways you’d never expect. The same applies to ill intentions: those who plot harm often find themselves ensnared by their own traps. Life is circular; what goes around always comes around.
Arrogance is for the foolish.
Every day is an opportunity to learn. Mistakes, missteps, and even heartbreaks are teachers if you’re willing to listen. To walk through life thinking you know it all is to close yourself off from growth. True strength lies in humility and the ability to adapt with each new lesson.
Be wise with your resources.
Money comes and goes, but discipline in spending shapes your freedom. Confidence, however, is a different kind of wealth. When you walk into a room, know that no one else can be you. That quiet certainty is far more valuable than arrogance—it’s self-respect without the need for comparison.
Guard your circle.
Loneliness is better than being surrounded by serpents. Not everyone who smiles at you wishes you well. A friend to all is often a friend to none. The ones who truly matter are selective with their trust and protective of their space. Sometimes, solitude is not isolation—it’s preservation.
In all these lessons lies a single thread: life is both a teacher and a mirror. What you give, you receive. What you learn, you become. And what you protect, protects you in return.
“To know yourself is a lifetime’s work; to pretend you know others is arrogance.”
Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
The furthest I’ve ever traveled from home wasn’t measured in miles or airports. It wasn’t about crossing oceans or standing in a foreign land where the language felt unfamiliar. The furthest I’ve ever traveled was the moment I lost someone I loved deeply—my Aba.
For me, home was never just a building of bricks and walls. Home lived in laughter across the dinner table, in encouragement when I doubted myself, in the simple comfort of knowing someone always had my back. I spent 11,273 days with the home I can no longer go back to.
When that presence vanished, I felt myself in a strange, uncharted land. I was surrounded by the same streets, the same rooms, the same material things—but the anchor was gone. It was as if the coordinates of home had been erased.
I had to learn that home isn’t a permanent location. It’s fragile, woven from bonds and moments, and when a piece of that fabric tears, you find yourself traveling further away from “home” than you ever thought possible.
And yet, even in that distance, I began to discover something unexpected. Though I can’t return to the home that once was, I carry parts of it with me. In memories, in lessons passed down, in the love that lingers, home travels with me—even into the farthest places of loss.
-A grief struck daughter.
Every lyric sinks deep — painting our grief in shades of grey. Tom Odell’s new single captures the ache of losing someone irreplaceable.
This is my digital footprint for you, Aba — a space where love never fades and memories never end.
The day my world shifted. The day I lost not only my father—but my anchor, my teacher, my best friend. My Aba. Even now, it feels unreal to speak of him in the past tense. My heart resists it. How can someone so full of life, love, and kindness simply be gone?
Aba was a rare soul—soft in a world that often hardens people. He was kind beyond words, generous beyond measure, and his love knew no boundaries. His gentleness wasn’t weakness; it was strength in its purest form. A quiet, unshakable kind.
No matter where life took us, he remained a constant—our emotional compass. To this day, everyone who met him speaks of his warmth, his empathy, and how he made them feel seen and valued.
Aba’s click: 1st November 2022
He didn’t just raise me—he empowered me. As a girl growing up in Pakistani culture, I got to travel and experience life in ways most girls, and even many men, never do. All because Aba believed I deserved to see the world. He believed in my potential. There were still places left where we had to travel together and discover, Aba.
Dropping Asfandyar (my eldest brother) off to Aitchison College boarding school.Aba’s favourite restaurant in Amsterdam (August 2016)
To the world, Aba was soft-spoken and humble. But to those who knew him deeply, he was also fiercely just. He stood up for what was right—never afraid to challenge what was wrong. He didn’t waste his energy on those who weren’t worth it, but when it came to truth, he never backed down.
To us—his children—he showed only gentleness. He never said no to me. If I even hinted at wanting something, he made sure I had it. Not just things, but his time, his protection, his undivided love.
He often called me naïve. Not in judgment—but out of worry. He knew this world too well, and feared I hadn’t yet seen its cruelty. “I worry for you the most,” he used to say. That worry came from the deepest love a father can hold.
In the last few months, he became more delicate—more thoughtful. Maybe he felt something was coming. Maybe that’s why he held us all a little closer.
He was the youngest among his siblings and cousins, and yet, he left us first. It feels so wrong. So deeply unfair. There’s a void now—one that nothing and no one will ever fill.
He was our lion. He protected us with his strength and loved us with his soul.
Aba, I miss you. Every moment. I see you in every sunset, in every decision I make, in every act of compassion I try to embody. You live in my strength, in my courage, in the parts of me you helped shape.
You were my father, my mentor, my friend—and the greatest blessing of my life.
I love you.
I miss you.
Your legacy lives on in me.
— Your Sehru.
Aba and me 1996-1997.
We have a part of you living in all your three children, Aba Saeein. In our hearts, in our choices, in the love we carry forward. And we promise—we plan on making you proud the day we meet again, in the forever realm.
Thank you for giving us such an incredible taste in music, Aba—Pink Floyd, Robbie Williams, Dire Straits, Eagles, Cher, Enigma, Ricky Martin, Schiller, George Michael, Phil Collins, Guns N’ Roses, Ace of Base, Gipsy Kings, Simon & Garfunkel, U2, Chris de Burgh, Scorpions, and Modern Talking. Your music lives on in us, just like your love. I’ll carry your playlist—and you—in my heart forever. I love you so much, Aba.
