The Quiet Joy of Being Remembered
Where Silence Holds the Sweetest Memories 😊
🎂 23rd June 2025
It’s a Monday—an unusual day for me to publish an issue of this newsletter.
But today is special: it’s my birthday.
This image is my own. © AYS
Parishay and I enjoy a lot of things together—and birthdays are something we both look forward to, in our own ways. It’s funny how excited we get about them.
Since I was a kid, birthdays have always been a big deal to me. Mum and Dad used to get us cake, decorate the house, and plan the entire day. We were friends and family, all celebrating together. My parents made sure my brother and I both got presents, so no one ever felt left out.
Ever since I moved away from my breezy home by the Red Sea, birthdays have felt different. Maybe they’re only truly fun when you’re surrounded by people who remember you without needing to be reminded.
It’s a strange and quiet blessing—how parents never forget.
No one else remembers quite like they do. Not even your closest friends.
You matter to them for a moment, and then—suddenly—you don’t. The ones who used to wish you at midnight and plan surprises just... disappear.
“Life gets in the way,” they say.
But maybe it doesn’t. Or maybe it doesn’t have to—if the person matters enough.
In a world full of fleeting attention and constant motion, it’s strange how easily we forget those we once remembered with so much intention. 😊
This image is my own. © AYS
This year, Parishay’s birthday reminded me of what it means to be remembered.
Life did get in the way for some, and things didn’t go as planned at first. But her mum and I had this shared idea—without even saying it aloud—that this year, we’d surprise her. She’s old enough now to understand what a surprise means. Last year, she even surprised her mum with a birthday balloon. So we felt it was her turn to be on the receiving end.
A day before her birthday, I took her to the library for an art and craft session—something she really enjoys. While we were gone, her mum and dad were setting everything up at home. But when we returned, things weren’t quite ready. Princess Shanzay was still having her beauty sleep and needed time to get ready—so we had to wait outside.
Parishay got worried.
“Mama, open the door,” she said from the car, seated patiently.
She couldn’t understand why no one was answering. She’s used to being greeted at the first ring of the bell. I had to distract her. I told her we’d go get ice cream—but of course, never did. We had to wait for the signal from inside.
I kept stalling, trying to stretch time the way you stretch silence when you’re holding a secret.
Eventually, we walked in—and she was truly surprised. First shocked, then smiling, then laughing. She looked at all of us, at the decorations, the gifts—everyone singing for her. Every few moments, she’d pause, look around, and say,
“Surprise for Parishay?!”
—as if trying to believe it, to relive it again and again.
That evening, she even told my mum on the phone,
“I received a surprise today!”
This image is my own. © AYS
But what moved me most was something quiet and unexpected.
Later that day, when she hugged me tight, she said thank you, again and again.
And I knew—it wasn’t just for the presents.
She had understood.
She knew I had distracted her for a reason—that I kept her waiting in the car on purpose.
She knew her mum hadn’t opened the door because they were still getting things ready.
She had pieced it all together.
That small moment of understanding—it meant everything.
I hadn’t expected her to grasp all the little strategies behind the surprise.
But she did.
Of all the surprises I’ve helped create, this one will stay with me always.
And I’m glad it was for Parishay; she means the world to me. ❤️
What made it feel so special?
Maybe it was the way she responded—with joy, gratitude, memory.
Or maybe it was that she kept saying it:
“Thank you everyone for the surprise.”
This image is my own. © AYS
She’s too young to remember my birthday yet, but her mum’s been telling her about it for months. Parishay’s been singing the birthday song for me for weeks.
And although I had a little pre-birthday celebration with friends this weekend, it didn’t feel right to cut a cake without her.
“Cutting a cake without Parishay feels like a crime,” I said to her Chachu (paternal uncle in Urdu).
So today, on my birthday, I’ll cut it with her—like always. ❤️
She loves cakes. Especially anything on top—chocolates, tiny figures, decorations.
Even before the cake is on the table, she’s already grabbing the things she loves most.
It’s become a tradition: Parishay steals the toppings before the candles are even lit.
I ordered a fully loaded cake this year—just for her. ❤️
It says ‘Happy Birthday Mimi Khala,’ but the celebration feels like it’s really hers.
Maybe one day, when she’s older (Insha’Allah), she’ll remember how we always shared this day, and that she used to enjoy it like her own birthday.