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Text: The Birds on the Roof

Every afternoon, Amin and his friends claimed their usual table at the neighborhood Café, just across from the hospital. They weren’t doing anything special: just heated debated about the last football match (Classic armchair coaches) , endless coffees that made them jittery, and trying to make each other laugh until someone choked on their Crocket. They were not bad guys, they were just often jobless, annoyingly loud and a bit immature.

One day, Amin parked his old scooter in the reserved staff parking spot. The doctor who usually parked there got really mad and started shouting at him. Amin just laughed at him and that made the doctor even angrier. He thankfully found another spot, parked, slammed the door and stomped away. While mimicking the walk of the grumpy doctor who had scolded him , Amine noticed a boy watching him from the hospital window. He had a shaved head, an IV drip, and the kind of smile you don’t fake.

"That kid gets it," Amin joked pointing at the boy

That moment stuck with him. He couldn’t forget that smile.

The next day, Amin brought a big balloon that looked like an anemic Sponge Bob. Without asking the café owner, he climbed on the roof of the establishment. He stood there holding the balloon and when the boy looked out, he started waving then pretending to have a fist fight with the malnourished Sponge Bob. The boy laughed. Nurses peeked out too and so did more patients. min liked the attention so he kept going. His friends joined him.

One day, Amin and his friends came dressed up as a superheros and danced feminine dances, shaking their bums and youyouying. The patients thought it was hilarious.

People in the hospital began to wait for them. “They’re here!” The nurses would say and the patients would rush to the windows. The grumpy doctor turned out to be a super friendly guy who bought them some coffee sometimes. The café owner gave them free pastries for being “idiots for a good cause.”

They called themselves *The Birds on the Roof*. No money, no plan—just four friends being ridiculous for the people who were suffering.

“We’re not doctors, obviously…Nadir here can barely read.” Amin said with a cheeky smile, “We’re not rich either but laughter is free, bro. Might as well share it.”

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Text: It’s Like Riding a Bike

"They all keep saying, “You’ll be fine—it’s like riding a bike.” Honestly? I’m not so sure. Five years is a long time. Five years of diapers, school runs, nap schedules, and laundry (so much laundry). Now I’m supposed to just… get back on the bike like nothing happened?

I used to know exactly what I was doing. Meetings, deadlines, reports—I could juggle it all with one hand and a coffee in the other. But now? Now I juggle snack times, lost shoes, and toys on the living room floor. And as much as I love my kids, part of me has missed that other version of myself—the one with sharp ideas and actual adult conversations.

But the truth is, I’m nervous. Things change in five years. Technology moves on. People move up. I’m scared I won’t recognize the place—or worse—that they won’t recognize me. What if I don’t fit anymore?

I start overthinking but then I stop and remind myself—these last five years have been work. Hard work. Maybe it didn’t come with a paycheck, but managing small humans is no small job. Patience, multitasking, problem-solving, negotiating, mediating, marketing (Have you ever tried to convince a toddler to go to bed?)—I’ve been training this whole time, just in a different way.

So yeah—I might wobble a bit at first. Might fall once or twice. But I know how to get back up. And honestly? I’m ready to feel like me again."

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"Text: Graduation

I can’t believe my niece has graduated. It feels like just yesterday Salsabil was running around the backyard or zooming on her scooter. And there she was standing on that stage, defending her thesis. What?!

As I sat in the quiet auditorium, memories kept flashing through my mind. I remembered watching cartoons with her, she’d be so restless climbing up and down the couch, imitating every character on the screen. I remembered taking her to the beach and building sand castles with her. I remembered her tears when she fell from her bike ( I panicked so hard that day). I remembered her constantly scraped knees. And there she was, smiling, confident, grown.

My sister, her mom, was sitting next to me, wiping away tears with a tissue. “Where did the time go? That’s my baby who just started elementary school yesterday.” she whispered, her voice shaking.

The judges asked her what I thought were difficult questions. I could feel my sister tensing up, worried about her daughter. But there was no need to worry. My niece stayed calm, she didn’t falter. She answered in great details and the jury seemed pleased with her answers. One of the judges said: “Your defense was air tight. You answered my questions before I had a chance to ask them.”

When they gave their feedback and we heard the long-awaited “Congratulations”, the whole family stood up and cheered. My sister’s Youyous were the loudest I’ve ever heard from her. Salsabil glanced over at us and beamed. That smile said everything. Hard work, late nights studying, friendships made and lost, gratitude, joy, doubt, determination, all leading up to this one moment.

After the ceremony, we met her outside. She ran to us, hugging everyone tightly. “I did it!” she said, laughing, a mix of joy and disbelief.

I just nod, unable to speak for a second. “Of course you did,” I finally say. “We always knew you would. We are so proud of you.”

Looking at her, I don’t just see a graduate. I see the little girl with the roller skates and I am blinded by how bright her future is. "