Stepping off the train on a hot summer evening in 2004, I dismissed Lahore as just a pit stop. My family and I had planned to stay for a month, long enough to complete my mother’s chemotherapy sessions before returning home to continue with our lives. Little did I know that Lahore would become my home, a sanctuary where I would grow, evolve and become the person I am today.

My relationship with Lahore is a complex tapestry of love and loathing. It’s a city that holds a piece of my heart. It is my home and it is where I belong. Yet, it’s also a place that has brought me profound pain and suffering. It was in Lahore that I lost my mother, witnessing her tears as the harsh reality sank in. I remember the quiet moments, too, when she’d sit with her diary and pen in hand, her eyes clouded with deep sorrow. When I asked to see her words, she would gently refuse.

When I finally held my mother’s diary in my hands, its pages revealed her heart that had loved fiercely, longingly and devastatingly. She had wished to see me grow into adulthood, to know that I would be okay when she left. But life had other plans. Her final words as she took her last breath were my name.

In moments like these, I step away from life; away from the roles that define me, away from the expectations that hold me hostage. I step away from being a sister, a daughter, a friend, a colleague. I just am.

Over time, I’ve learned to live with the impermanence of life, love and loss. But today, the reality of what I’d lost hit me just too hard. My grief overpowered me and I let it. In moments like these, I step away from life; away from the roles that define me, away from the expectations that hold me hostage. I step away from being a sister, a daughter, a friend, a colleague. I just am.

I sit down with my grief and offer ‘it’ a cup of tea. We reflect on what I’ve lost and I wonder why me. Why can’t I just be? Lahore sees it all, it’s my silent confidant.

As I walk the streets of Lahore, lost in thought, the city becomes my sanctuary. When it’s time to go back home and pack my grief in a tightly held suitcase, I realise that Lahore has become a part of me. Its streets, its sounds and its silence echo the lessons I’ve learnt. I’ve come to understand that grief is not something to be overcome, but something to live with. And in Lahore, I’ve found a home that accepts me, scars and all.

Ayesha Sarwar Nooral is a clinical psychologist with extensive training in multiple domains of psychology. She advocates mental health rights and accessible support for all