There are moments in life when time seems to stretch and collapse all at once, when a single event can stir emotions so profound that you cannot help but surrender to their overwhelming force. For me, that moment came during a flight from Cape Town to Dubai, en route to the AWID Forum in Bangkok.
As the Emirates flight cruised above the clouds, something as simple as an Arabic safety video awakened a storm of emotions within me—emotions I didn’t know I was ready to
face.
Since the beginning of my WOSSO Fellowship journey, I had not blogged. In fact, I had
never blogged before. And for months, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There was a part of me that couldn’t find the words, couldn’t connect to the process of writing something for the world to see when I was so deeply entrenched in my own personal turmoil.
The loss of my father—my hero—had left a hole in me that I wasn’t sure I would ever fill. To lose him in the way we did was a pain too complicated for words. To watch my mother, suffer in the aftermath, to uncover a tangled family history full of secrets and shadows—it all felt too heavy, too raw. And yet, the weight of it all compelled me to write a book about my father. To write it, I had to pour all of myself into it—every ounce of grief, love, confusion, and regret. I thought that blogging would betray that process.
It felt too shallow, too fleeting compared to the depth of the book I was trying to write.
But in that moment on the plane, with the Arabic language wrapping around me, I realized something profound. I had been mistaken. Writing, whether in the form of a book or a blog, was not an act of betrayal—it was an act of connection. It was part of my journey of healing. It was the energy I needed to express the deep pain I had been holding onto for so long. And I understood, suddenly, that the act of blogging—of sharing my raw, unfiltered self—was not separate from my book. It was the same process, the same energy, just in a different form.
In that fleeting moment, I allowed myself to feel everything I had been suppressing for months. I cried not just for my father and my other many personal challenges, but for the parts of me that I had ignored—the parts that needed to be heard, to be shared. And I realized that my journey to the AWID Forum wasn’t just about the event in front of me, but about everything that had led me here. Every loss, every tear, every moment of doubt, every silent prayer had brought me to this place. And now, I was ready. Ready to blog. Ready to share my truth.
As I sit here in Bangkok, preparing for the AWID Forum, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. It’s not just the incredible opportunity to be here, surrounded by amazing people, ready to learn and grow—it’s the realization that all of my life experiences, both painful and beautiful, have led me to this moment. And I am ready to carry those experiences with me into my writing.
The journey I am on is one of healing, of self-discovery, of embracing the complex emotions that define who I am. I am inspired to blog not just by the excitement of being here, but by the deeply painful absence of my father and the sadness I’ve carried for so long. But now, my spirit has been renewed. I am no longer afraid to write, to share, to express the deep emotions that have shaped me. And this flight—this simple yet profound experience—was the catalyst that broke open the floodgates of my heart.
So here I am, ready to write. Ready to let the world see me—not as someone broken, but as someone who has found strength in her vulnerability. I am ready to pour my soul into my words, to blog with all the emotion and depth I can muster. The pain of loss will always be with me, but so will the beauty of new beginnings, of being in this moment, of finally finding my voice.
And this is just the beginning.
