Between Gemini Season and ringing in the Hijri New Year
Taking a moment to reflect on the passage of time through my experiences, lessons learned and achievements so far
Between Gemini SZN and the Hijri New Year, as ever I’ve found myself in a reflective season. While much of my life journey has felt like an uphill climb, more survival than thriving, there is also so much to celebrate. As Gemini SZN comes to an end and the Hijri New Year is in full swing, I want to take a moment to honour some of the experiences that have shaped me, the lessons I’ve learned, and the achievements I’m proud to carry with me into the next chapter.
In no particular order:
Writing has been the one constant throughout my life. It started with pen on paper, filling notebooks with stories, poems and childhood journal entries, evolved into blogs on Blogger and Tumblr, and has now found a home on Substack. Nun. By the Pen and what they inscribe. A sacred oath emphasising the divine importance of knowledge, writing, and the preservation of truth. Fits perfectly for the writer I am!
Born in the ‘80s, raised in the ‘90s, and partied through the 2000s, I feel incredibly grateful to have lived through that era. Looking back, I can see that the Barakah (blessings) in my life were abundant. So many of those moments were captured on film, Polaroids, disposable cameras, and early digicams, freezing memories that still feel vivid today. As the seasons of my life changed, there was shedding, growth, and renewal. New forms of Barakah entered my life, shaping me into the person I am today.
There was something special about cycling the ancient city walls of Xi’an in China and Lucca in Italy. Two places on opposite sides of the world, connected for me by the simple joy of riding a bike. That joy really began with my dad. I went through more bikes than I can count growing up, and when I outgrew my little bike with its basket, bell and ribbons, I wanted nothing more than a BMX. When he couldn’t afford one, he improvised. He was always good at improvising, so I never felt like I was missing out. Instead, he found second hand vintage bikes that most of my friends would have called granny bikes, but they were full of character. I even owned a beautiful old Viking bike at one point, and although I did not appreciate it as much back then, those old granny bikes helped shape my love of vintage bicycles. Looking back, I realise every bike ride I take today carries a little of those childhood memories with it. Cycling around Xi’an and Lucca felt like a quiet reminder that my dad always found a way to give me the freedom of two wheels, even if it was not the bike I had imagined.
Growing up in a multi-generational household, I helped raise my nieces and nephews and watched them grow up. I never had children of my own, but I don’t feel like I missed out because I had the privilege of being part of their upbringing in a meaningful way. Fast forward to today they are thriving adults in their 20s and 30s. It’s a strange and grounding feeling to look at them now and remember the children they once were, and to know I had a hand in those early years.
Learning to drive felt like the ultimate freedom for many of us when we turned 16 and got our provisional licence. Some of my fondest memories are of my dad gifting me a secondhand Vauxhall three door comfort car, a proper banger that somehow lasted well over 15 years. I can still see the expression on my dads face when he found out I passed my test, he was so proud. That little car became part of so many moments of my life, mosque drop offs and pick ups with nieces and nephews, especially around the time I passed my test just as Ramadan began. Road trips with friends, and quiet drives where I would take my parents out, returning a small piece of care they had always shown me in return. Looking back, it was never just about learning to drive, it was about the freedom, the responsibility, and all the shared moments that unfolded along the way.
From bottom set all the way to University, my educational journey was anything but straightforward. University was the first place where I truly realised that I was intelligent. It restored my confidence at a time when my self esteem was at its lowest. For the first time, I was treated like an adult by educators who encouraged critical thinking, curiosity, and ideas that challenged convention. Instead of being expected to follow rules and memorise answers, I was encouraged to think outside the box and develop my own perspective and critical thinking. After a difficult experience in high school and sixth form, that was exactly what I needed. University didn’t just give me a degree, it gave me belief in myself and the courage to dream as the first woman in my family to graduate from University.
Volunteering and Community work has been one of the most meaningful threads running through my life. It has never just been about roles or organisations, but about people, connection, and trying to contribute in ways that are helpful and human. It all started with my local Healthwatch, I spent time supporting community engagement work, from carrying out research and patient experience feedback to helping with hospital inspections and producing reports, newsletters, and design work such as flyers. I drew on my creative skills and Healthwatch’s independent health advice to advocate for people and to hold state violence to account. This work has always been rooted in justice, Healthwatch was the independent statutory champion for users of health and social care services in England to ensure that patients, carers, and the public have a powerful voice in shaping, improving, and scrutinising the NHS and local care systems. Moving on in the arts, I supported my local arts centre by covering events through social media, from seasonal exhibitions and craft fairs to wider cultural programmes across the year. I later moved into writing and reviewing exhibitions, including 52 Weeks and 52 Cities at DAC, as well as shows like the Copenhagen Photo Festival and Nathalie Daoust’s Korean Dreams. These experiences gave me space to reflect on art not just as something to observe, but as something that asks questions about the world we live in. Volunteering with Young Enterprise UK in East London was insightful. I supported young people in schools and colleges with financial budgeting, encouraging them to think realistically about managing money, weighing priorities, and planning for their futures. Later on my volunteering took me to train with Cruse Bereavement Support, working on the helpline after completing the Foundation in Bereavement Support Studies. Sitting with people in grief even briefly, stays with you, it is heavy work, but also profoundly human. Following my podcast, I also launched a pilot closed-door group for people impacted by NHS negligence. In a facilitative role, I supported space for people to share lived experiences, explore how to raise complaints with trusts and regulators, and seek accountability. These conversations also included discussions around negligence lawyers and the role they can play in representing families pursuing compensation. In recent years, I have been a Health Information Reviewer with Alzheimer’s Research UK, my dad had vascular dementia I have a lot to say about it so helping to ensure that information about dementia and cognitive health is clear, accessible, and evidence based is a great way to give back through lived experience of trying to care for my dad who had dementia especially because at the time I did not realise how serious it was due to the gap between the NHS and the third sector. I have reviewed materials including What is Mild Cognitive Impairment (2023), the Young Onset Dementia booklet (2024), and lived experience summaries linked to research such as the LACI COG trial. I have also supported academic teams at the University of Edinburgh, including Dr Joanna Wardlaw and Dr Fergus Doubal, contributing to work exploring vascular dementia and emerging treatments. Even when the work is behind the scenes, it still matters, I have learned that volunteering is not only about what you give, but also about what it gives back to you. It has helped shape my sense of purpose, strengthened my confidence, and reminded me of the value of showing up for people and causes I care about in different ways.
Exhibiting my photos at the West London Photography Show in the Vivian Maier Room was a dream come true. I had studied photography at community college and was one of the top of my class, which gave me the confidence and structure to really put my creativity to use. Seeing my travel photos hanging on the walls felt surreal like something I had worked towards for so long had finally become real. I was proud of that moment and of what I had created. Especially since the arts are often accessible to only affluent, white and middle classes.
Working and living abroad was never something I imagined for myself, let alone an opportunity with the United Nations. I loved my TA, raising millions of dollars for crises around the world and training UN agency offices on effective digital engagement. There was a real sense of purpose in it, and even something surreal about it all, like I had stepped into a life I never quite expected to belong to. Having a “freedom passport” with the highest security clearance, a laissez-passer recognised as an emergency official travel document issued in lieu of a standard passport, also felt significant. Not just for the travel itself, but for what it represented, a sense that I had earned my place in rooms and spaces I once thought were far away from me. Living in Copenhagen taught me a great deal about independence, identity, and perspective. It gave me distance from everything familiar, which in turn gave me clarity. But more than anything, it taught me that in the pursuit of more, more experience, more growth, more opportunity, I came to realise that I already had something I had been overlooking. London, the UK, is home. Home is where the heart is. And sometimes we spend so much time reaching outward that we forget to recognise what already holds us. It reminds me of Michael Bublé’s song Home, a reminder that no matter how far you go, there is something grounding in returning to where you belong.
Building an established career and working in notable institutions was never predicted for me, I have proven the haters and doubters wrong along the way. Some still wonder how I managed to survive everything I have been through, and perhaps what unsettles them most is that I did. More importantly, my relationship with work and career has shifted. I have learned that a job is not an identity, and a career is not the sum total of who I am. It is something I move through, something I build and rebuild, but it does not define my worth. Over time, I’ve come to see that who I am is far bigger than what I do for a living to pay the bills and as a geriatric millennial I’ve stopped making a job and having a career my identity.
Buying a home on a single income felt like a turning point in my life. After years of working difficult low income jobs and dealing with people who, in many ways, chipped away at my softness, I saved and scrimped every penny to make it happen. I did it alone, without help, and as someone who comes from a council estate background, it felt like an incredible milestone. Looking back now, it feels like a different version of me lived that moment. I am still proud of her, even though my perspective on home ownership has changed over time. What once felt like security now feels more complicated, and I no longer see it in the same way I once did.
There is a tension there I have learned to hold. But beneath all of it, I remain proud of the fact that I survived, that I worked, saved, and managed to put a roof over my own head through sheer perseverance.
Washing my late mother’s body was both a privilege and an honour, a final act of care as we prepared her to transition into the next realm. I shared this deeply important moment with my two sisters. It is a memory held with both grief and gratitude. There is knowing I was able to care for her in her final moments with dignity, tenderness, and love, returning in some small way what she had given me throughout her life. It is something I will always carry with me. May Allah grant her Jannah.
Running 5K and 10K events for Cancer Research and the British Heart Foundation, raising hundreds of pounds, was something I did back in 2011 after my mother’s death in 2010. In the period before, my sister and I started running together every Sunday, and that routine led me to enter the races. It became a way to channel grief into something active, shared, and meaningful. Looking back now, I can see how much that time shaped me. We showed up for each other and kept going, week after week, when things felt difficult.
Hosting and creating Death Café BAME and Bereavement Podcast, this was never on my bucket list, it was me doing work through god, a divine guidance. After experiencing harm in therapy and bereavement support, I realised there was a need for a different kind of space. What began as a Death Café BAME evolved into a podcast, creating a space where people of colour or if you like the global majority joined me in the room to talk openly about our loved ones. A place for honest conversations about grief, trauma, inequality, and inequity. The podcast reached listeners around the world and inspired hundreds of letters and dms from people who felt seen, heard, and less alone. I will always be proud of this grassroots initiative and the role it played in our collective healing journey. Along the way, it opened doors I never expected. My podcast was featured in magazines, appeared on radio stations, and was featured in mental health panels at universities and other meaningful spaces, all centred around conversations on life, death, grief, and identity. Fundraising over £400 from my listeners and charities for a much requested third season. Many of the guests who joined me on the podcast were later scouted for new opportunities, with the platform helping to amplify their voices and work.
Horse riding on a beach in Mexico is something I still think about. I can remember how freeing it felt. The ocean running alongside us, the wide stretch of sand ahead, and the wind against my skin made everything feel open and uncontained. It wasn’t just a nice moment, it was something bigger than that like for a while I was completely outside of everything heavy. Just movement, space, and a kind of freedom only a horse can give you that I would not have otherwise felt.
Hot air ballooning in Cappadocia at sunrise. When I was a child and teenager, I’d spend hours flicking through the Yellow Pages. There was always one advert that caught my eye. The only advert that was in full colour advertising hot air balloon rides. One day, I rang the company to ask about it, a lovely old chap talked me through the whole experience and explained the cost. I remember putting the phone down feeling disappointed because, as a broke kid living on a council estate, there was no way I could afford it. So I made a mental note to myself to save up for it and one day i’ll do it. Years later, I finally kept that promise to my younger self. Not in the UK, but soaring above the fairy chimneys of Cappadocia with Royal Balloon as the sun rose over the landscape. To top it all off, I even received a medal afterwards. Some dreams just take a little longer than others, but they are worth the wait.
Telling people to finally fuck off. From the classmate whose sisters called me a “Paki” at the school gates, to the crush who made me cry in the playground who is now Reform UK voter, to the peers I shared classrooms, corridors and playgrounds with, and the teenage love who always believed his friends over me. Fast forward today he doesn’t trust any of them, oh how the tables turn. The girl group that turned out to be just another mean spirited clique, the “friend” of the same ethnicity everyone saw as some kind of saint but who’s really just a hypocrite, the bad bosses that were jealous of me, and the brother I shared geography classes with who turned out to be a low key hater. The list is endless. It took me years to realise that sly, salty comments, asking too many questions about my life and moves and the “jokes” said far more about their own insecurities than they ever did about me. For a long time I was too forgiving, too nice, overlooking, always softening when what I should have done was stand up for myself and walk away from people when they made me cry, rage baited me and tried to bring down my self esteem. What I understand now is that I stayed too long in places where I wasn’t treated well as a teenager and young adult. I no longer do that.
Having boundaries, I was rubbish at them when it came to relationships and friendships in my teenage and young adult years right through to my early 30s due to poor discernment, but I’ve come a long way since then. For a long time I said yes when I meant no, stayed when I should have left, and tried to be easy to deal with rather than be honest with myself. Over time, I started to see people more clearly and realised not everyone deserves continued access to you. I’ve since shed a lot of users, and what’s been revealing is seeing people for who they truly are once you stop overextending yourself for them. And for the ones I couldn’t directly remove from my life, I trust that God has a way of doing the clearing you can’t always do yourself. I now normalise cutting off friendships and relationships with people whose whole personality is built on insulting me and then gaslighting me about it by calling it “just a joke.” This is airing on bullying rather than harmless joking. As they now say, be a bitch or get an autoimmune disease.
Travelling to over 55+ countries, most of them solo, has been one of the most formative parts of my life, with some shared journeys along the way with family and friends. I have seen many wonders and experienced a great deal, meeting people from all parts of the world. It was travel itself that helped me gain knowledge and deepen my understanding of different cultures, communities and their histories. It reminds me of the Quranic verse in Surah Al-Hujurat (49:13), which speaks of how humanity was created into nations and tribes so that we may come to know one another. Travelling has helped me understand myself beyond the environment I know. It softens me, offering a gentle pause from the everyday pressures of routine and the demands of daily life. Away from the familiar, I feel lighter, more present, and more connected to who I am beneath the expectations and responsibilities I carry at home. Most of all, I will forever be grateful to my parents for grounding me in my Bengali heritage, history, and roots by taking me back to Bangladesh as a child and teenager which shaped my love of travel and connected me to my faith where I have come to learn, everything is temporary and we are all travellers in this world.
Deepening my knowledge of Islamic theology over time, I often wish my parents were still here to see the person I have become. As it is famously said within the Muslim community, “Even if you are born Muslim, you still have to find Islam.” I have come to understand this through lived experience and everything life has taught me along the way, and I am grateful to have returned. Not everyone finds their way back.
Going solo by learning to date myself has been one of the most peaceful and grounding experiences of my life. Going to the cinema alone, sitting in cafés, or simply spending time in my own company has taught me that solitude is not loneliness. It is presence. There is something empowering and wholesome about not waiting for someone else to show up in order to enjoy life. For example, watching a film alone, I am fully immersed in my own thoughts and reactions, unfiltered and uninterrupted. I have come to appreciate the stillness, the freedom of choosing exactly what I want to do, and the comfort of not having to over explain, humanise and justify myself.
Surviving the workplace, navigating bullies, racism, microagressions, and Islamophobia has been deeply disheartening and even soul destroying. This was not what my twenty something year old self full of dreams, expected when entering the professional working world, but as Sia sang, I’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart, But your blade it might be too sharp, I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard I may snap and I move fast, But you won’t see me fall apart ‘cause I’ve got an elastic heart, I’ve got an elastic heart, Yeah, I’ve got an elastic heart, And I will stay up through the night, Let’s be clear, won’t close my eyes, And I know that I can survive, I’ll walk through fire to save my life.
Arguably once a soft person, slowly chipped away at over time until I hardened in response. A life of survival and now my return to softness is in motion. I can feel myself coming back to my former whimsy, a love of the moon, stars, trees, seashells, wind chimes and dreamcatchers, horoscopes and astronomy, snow globes and incense.
More importantly, when it is my time to return to the Creator, for in the end we all return, I pray that I return in my softness, not my hardness.
On that note, I highly recommend jotting down what you are proud of, especially if you have reached mid life, to take stock of all that you have experienced and achieved. Even if you do not share it, it is a grounding practice, a way of recognising yourself in full, not just the parts that were shaped by struggle and survival but all the parts shaped by softness, love and joy.
Until next time, Happy Islamic New Year.
Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh, Jzk
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