As I stepped off a ledge far too narrow for my teenage body—one I felt was unfortunately too wide—I felt fear rise, lodging itself in my throat. Stepping off wouldn’t ease it; this particular fear was here to stay until the process ended. Falling through the air, waiting for the bungee to catch the weight of my body, seemed a counterintuitive act of trust. And yet, there I was, waiting.

I think everyone around me was surprised that I’d taken on the challenge of facing my fear of heights. At fifteen, I had no real sense of courage or empowerment, but in that moment, I felt accomplished. Did this make me brave? Adventurous? Someone who defied the caution that had always held me back? Probably not. I was still me: an awkward, gawky teenager with much to learn. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still the same girl.

As an artist and an avid student of the world’s ways, I find defining myself to be a convoluted exercise. Like Sisyphus and his boulder, I carry the weight of my identity up the hill of mortality, knowing I’ll never fully grasp its shape or contradictions. There’s simply not enough time to understand the ‘self’—much less explain it to someone else.

So here’s where I’ll start: I like stories. My life has been a series of them.

The story of my childhood spans twelve countries, with two diplomat parents teaching me how to “be normal,” whatever that means. My adolescence took me back to my home country, Pakistan, where I’d only lived for four years in total. As a university student studying film and TV, my lifelong obsession, I tried to find my roots in a place where I thought I’d belong. Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

In my mid-twenties, my story took me to Germany, where I earned a master’s degree in Fiction Film Direction and realised I wouldn’t belong anywhere. This chapter became the story of an immigrant with brown skin and a weak passport, where the rest of my story—my uniqueness—mattered less to the world.

Then came the story of my rebirth, marked by the greatest grief I’ve known: the loss of a loved one. It reshaped my view of life and of myself. Now, I’m living a new story—one where I search for my voice in this ever-changing world. A story of relearning who I am and who I’m perceived to be. As I fill these new pages, I write my observations along the way. I welcome you to some of my musings. May they bring clarity—or at least the courage to ask questions.