Thoughts

In the few weeks before my first child was born, I felt life was spinning so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. I was working until late in the pregnancy, juggling two close family weddings and hosting house guests. Despite my exhaustion, I thought I could keep going.

Last week, I was looking after my friend’s 5-year-old daughter, and we ended up in the supermarket buying pet food for my cat, Teddy. In my usual rush, I grabbed a bag I thought suited to my cat’s senior years and headed to the checkout. As we approached the till, the little girl tugged at my sleeve and asked, “Why does the cat food have a picture of a dog on it?”

As the winter evenings draw in and daylight becomes more scarce, I think we could all use a bit more light in our lives. And by light I don’t just mean the sunlight. Just as we talk about dark times to describe painful episodes in our lives, so light can be a symbol of hope in the face of adversity.

My son was keen to get married with his bride-to-be. They agreed the date and started making plans. There was just one problem with the wedding planning: one of his sisters was away the weekend they had chosen. My son initially wasn’t too fazed at the absence of such a close family member: perhaps she could just join by a video call.

The day was looking like it was going to be a good one. The sun was shining. My family had been living in South Africa for two and a half years, and we had settled into a routine. It was the weekend. My husband was out watching our son play cricket.

When I was a young child, I thought my best friend’s father was the perfect father. He always seemed to be around. On Fridays, he gave each of his children money to get treats from the local shop, and if I was there, I’d qualify too.

My mother recently held a ‘celebration of life’ event for my late father, who died aged 80. Most of the 150 guests who travelled from around the country were around his age. One had just been diagnosed with cancer the day before, two checked themselves out of care homes for the day, another guest was hooked up to oxygen. Yet we all came, to remember my father.

Back when I was a student, I took part in a protest against an international conflict simply by offering a few leaflets to local passers-by. This was a small sacrifice of time out of my day, but that was all. Today, I see many young students making great effort to protest at their universities and colleges.

Reminiscing through childhood videos, I come across a moment where my toddler son is clutching onto a toy train with all his might.

I used to read to my young children a bedtime story about a woodcutter and his wife who were poor, and who wished they were better off in order to be happier.

One of my core memories growing up was when my mother was asked what she did for a living. She used to respond, "I'm just a housewife."

When my three children were small, I used to read them a story about three little bears. The furry creatures were very much loved. One was the only girl, one was the smallest, and one had patches. They were all different. And each of them worried: would Mummy and Daddy Bear love them as much as the other two?

The great oak tree beyond the end of our garden is over 500 years old. It’s winter: the leaves on the oak have fallen to the ground. Well below the oak tree’s trunk are roots - strong, wide and extending unseen.

Sarah came with trepidation to my local mosque open day. As I was a Muslim volunteering for the event, I welcomed her warmly. She was a lady in her fifties, who didn’t express any particular belief. She soon felt sufficiently comfortable to tell me what was on her mind.

Earlier this year, my eldest child, in her twenties, phoned from her all-girls flat to tell me she wanted to get married to the young man she had been getting to know. I hadn’t expected her to make that decision so soon.

A young woman has just come to stay in my home so she could easily get to a wedding where I happened to be also invited. We didn’t know each other well. But my doors were open – because she was my friend Sabiha’s daughter.

Certificates of achievement have been received. Sports day prizes have gone to the winners. It’s time to relax and do nothing.

I asked my 4-year old daughter Safiyya to find a toy to give to charity, for a collection happening in our area. Safiyya got busy in her bedroom, rummaging through everything she had.

As a child, I’d regularly play Monopoly with my sister and brother for hours. I recall the stress. Would I have to pay lots of rent before I passed Go? Was I going to land on Park Lane and Mayfair?

I began my first day in my new role as an Analyst. I hadn’t been part of the labour market in the UK for quite a few years. I didn’t think I had the skills I needed for the position. I was pretty sure I had secured a job that was way beyond me to learn.

At a work dinner, one of my colleagues got up as I said goodbye. Ben, who must have been around 35, seemed to be crying. I had no idea why

My father has just celebrated a key milestone of turning 80. And so I celebrated with him – along with three generations of our family.

I psych myself up to go on the treadmill before I start work. I run, I rest, I run a bit more, I rest again. The next day, I’ve got an early morning meeting. There’s no time for a run.

This is the week of an event on a global scale, with national teams coming together in groups, at a set time for a set number of days, with shared values of humanity, equality and destiny. An inclusive event, for men and women, for the able-bodied and para-athletes, now so accessible that for the first time the medals have adjustable ribbons to suit all body shapes and sizes.

I survey the multiple scraps of paper I’ve scribbled on – some scattered on the desk where I work, others on the floor by my bed noting my last minute reflections before I sleep. Notes to self to pick up the dry cleaning and get more milk interspersed with different things I need to let my work colleagues know about and random bits of inspiration.

I read the latest unintelligible text message from my university-age daughter, one which mixes shorthand and slang words with the odd number thrown in. I translate: Home soon. Seeing a friend first.

My independence day was my wedding day. The day I planned to start wearing a headscarf.

At my local mosque where I was volunteering for an Open day, I was surprised by the first question a visitor asked me. A woman in her fifties enquired rather aggressively: ‘Why have Muslims banned Morris dancing?’

For the last two years, Richard has been the manager of my local village train station. His job title was Station Ambassador.

Although it was over two decades ago, it seems like only yesterday my first baby was due. My husband had been thinking for a while the new baby really should have a light that could be dimmed in the bedroom where they were going to sleep when a bit older.

The most important man in my life is my father. When I was young, he taught me to question – to never assume anything.