Tag Archives: Love and Loss

Aba ❤️, California, Champs-Élysées, contentment, Emapthy, Emotional Depth, family, Fathers are precious, Grief, lake tahoe, Memories, Travel, travel diaries, Travelgram, You only live once

– The Journeys That Became Memories.

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What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?

My favorite holidays aren’t defined by one place or one trip. When I think about them, I think about my father, my Aba, and the way he made travel feel like so much more than just going somewhere new. He didn’t just take us on vacations, he made us a part of something he truly loved. From sitting by the window on the Pacific Coast Amtrak train watching the ocean stretch endlessly beside us, to long drives from Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe filled with conversations and quiet moments, every journey felt complete simply because we were together.

Some memories still feel almost unreal, like climbing over a thousand steps to reach Mount Saint Michel in France, exhausted but happy, or traveling across Europe from Paris to Zurich and Amsterdam, experiencing new places while holding onto that same sense of closeness. Aba always said his trips would feel empty without us, and now I understand what he meant. It was never about the destination for him, it was about sharing those moments with family, about making sure we were there with him in everything he experienced.

Now when I look back, those memories mean everything to me, but they are also bittersweet. I sometimes think about going back to the same cafés and places just to feel close to him again, even though I know it won’t ever be the same. And maybe that is okay. What stays with me is not the places, but the feeling he created, the warmth, the togetherness, and the quiet happiness of being there as a family. I have already lived my favorite holidays and most of my wish list. I was 29 when I lost my father. He is a big part of me and will always be. I dream of him often and find comfort in that.

2026, Healing, Hope, Humility, Life & Inspiration, Life Lesson, live & let live

The Power of Empathy

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Which aspects do you think makes a person unique?

Empathy is what truly makes a person unique, especially in today’s world. People who are genuinely kind, mature, educated, and well traveled often share one important quality: the ability to understand and feel for others. They do not see themselves as superior, and they do not treat others with indifference. Instead, they show basic human decency in the way they speak, act, and respond to the people around them.

For me, empathy stands above everything else. It is not just about being nice. It is about being aware, respectful, and emotionally present. At a time when many people are quick to judge or dismiss others, empathy feels rare, and that is exactly why it matters so much.

The most empathetic person I have ever known was my father. He felt things deeply and treated people with genuine kindness, yet he was firm when he needed to be. He had a quiet ability to understand people just by being around them, almost as if he could read their emotions without a single word. His empathy was never a weakness. It was his strength, and it shaped the way he connected with everyone he met.

To me, that is what truly makes someone unique. Not their achievements or their status, but their ability to treat others with compassion and understanding.

Sehr.

2026, Aba ❤️, Grief, Losing a parent, Losing your father, Losing your friend, Love, Love & Grief, Love&Loss

Aba ❤️

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Aba, you loved me deeply. So deeply that my expectations of life grew—not out of entitlement, but belief. Belief that I mattered. That I could take up space. That love could be steady.

Your love was never indulgent. Alongside warmth, there was guidance. You corrected me when I needed humility, grounded me when pride crept in, and showed me that care and discipline could coexist.

Through you, I learned what it meant to belong—not because I performed well or earned approval, but because I was yours. That belonging was quiet and certain. Something I carried without even thinking about it.

When you were alive, the world felt navigable. When you were gone, it didn’t. Life continued, indifferent to the emptiness left behind. It showed me how easily what is precious can be overlooked, misunderstood, or lost, and forced me to build resilience I never knew I had.

I am healing. I seem fine and put together—I take care of myself, I move through the world as though I have adjusted. But when no one is around, there are moments of emptiness, moments when I feel as though I might not matter at all. That feeling doesn’t mean I am failing to heal. It is the echo of having been loved in a way that made my existence unquestionable. Losing you did not just take a father from my life; it took the certainty of being someone’s first choice. And now, quietly and imperfectly, I am learning how to live in a world that does not pause for that kind of grief.

You may be gone, Aba, but the imprint of your love remains. I am leaving a digital footprint for my beloved father. In life, you were loved dearly, and in death, you are loved still.

Your one and only Daughter,

Sehru.

family, Fathers are precious, Grief, Losing a parent, Love, Love & Grief, Tribute

Learning to Live with the Part That Never Heals

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A part of me still wakes in the first days after, reaching for a voice the world can’t return.

A part of me still holds the phone, forgetting and remembering in the same breath.

And though that ache never fully heals, it is the proof that love outlives loss— the part of me that keeps going because they’re gone, and because they were here.

2025, Aba ❤️, Adulthood, Grief, Heart Break, Losing a parent, Losing your friend, Tribute

The Shade That’s Gone

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What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?

I wasn’t in my village when my father left this world. I wasn’t there to hold his hand, see his last smile, or say the words I had saved for someday. Seven months and five days later, the absence still lives inside me—sharp, raw, and unbearable.

Even sleeping makes me feel guilty. How can I rest when he is gone? How can I eat, laugh, or speak as if life hasn’t changed? How dare I have normal days when he is not here? The guilt crushes me. I am a human being searching for escape, yet every night my mind drifts back to the loss that reshaped everything.

Of both my parents, I was closest to him. He was my friend, my safe space, the one I could share everything with. He gave me a love I have never known anywhere else, a trust that made me feel untouchable, invincible under his shade. He was my oak tree. Losing him left the world too bright, too loud, too cruel.

But he did not leave me weak. He gave me strength. He gave me the courage to face this world without him. I will deal with people as they are. I am not a poor, defenseless girl. No. I am his daughter. I carry his strength in my veins, even now.

And the hardest truth I’ve had to swallow:

No one will ever love me the way he did. No one will prioritize me the way he did. I no longer hold expectations from anyone.

I am learning to carry the space he left behind—not filling it, not replacing it—just living with it. Accepting grief in quiet mornings, in tearful nights, and in every memory that pierces me. I wasn’t there when he left, but I carry him with me in every step, every breath, every heartbeat.

If I ever get to visit the places I visited with you, Aba, I will definitely go to your favorite coffee shops and restaurants. I will sit there, feeling your presence in every small detail, and remember the love, laughter, and shade you gave me.

Slowly, painfully, I am learning that it’s okay to hurt—and it’s okay to keep living.

To the most amazing father ever. Miss you always.

Your princess.

2nd January 1967- 23rd April 2025