They call it maturity, but I call it my personality. They don’t even know what it really means… when I just lie in my bed and think about myself. I am the oldest child in my family — more capable, more mature than my age and the strongest one... this is what they think about me.

Currently, I’m living through my twenties, working on myself and struggling with internal conflicts about my potential to achieve the best in my career. I might seem chill, relaxed, content and satisfied with what I’m doing — that’s what my personality reflects. But deep down, I know what I’m going through. I know how mature I am and I know what I’m capable of. I just don’t show it, because there’s no one who truly understands me or sees things that deeply.

I was once a girl who loved sketching and making henna designs. In college, girls used to call me “Mehndi Wali” instead of using my name. At first, it felt like a compliment, but over time, being repeatedly labelled the same way started to feel frustrating. Eventually, the hobby I once loved turned into something I no longer enjoyed.

Since childhood, I’ve been good at academics, yet I always felt something was missing. Not because I doubted myself, but because I constantly compared myself to those who were achieving more. I have never been a jealous person, but I’ve always wanted to do something more meaningful — something that makes me feel fulfilled.

But something changed today. My whole perspective about myself, people and life shifted. This morning, after I woke up, I was sitting on the couch beside our kitchen when I saw my mother making breakfast. I don’t know what happened — suddenly, a thought came into my mind.

She is the woman I’ve been watching since childhood — always working for everyone, standing by everyone, trying to make everything possible just to keep others happy. She has sacrificed everything, yet she never shows any sign of wanting rest or relief from life. Everything she does seems to come from a place of inner satisfaction.

But I’ve never seen anyone doing anything for her. No one stands by her. Not even a single person takes a moment to admire or appreciate her.

Is that really fair?

I was shocked to realise that even after sacrificing her entire life, she has never complained — not once. And here I am, thinking about my own life, my own struggles. What am I really doing? What’s wrong with me? Why do I always complain about not having enough in life, even though my parents did everything they could to make me happy? Why do we often admire other people’s lives and wish to live like them?

Why don’t we pause for a moment and reflect on the lives of our parents and let ourselves be inspired by them? Why can’t we set aside our own concerns for a while and truly think about them: how they’ve lived, what they’ve sacrificed and what they once dreamed of for themselves?

I believe it’s our responsibility to understand them and support them instead of waiting for someone else to do it. Sometimes, it’s better to be the one who understands and stands by those who truly need to be understood, rather than constantly wishing for someone to understand us.

“What are you thinking, beta?” I heard my mum ask, placing her hand gently on my shoulder.

I looked at her and smiled, “Nothing, Mumma.”

She sat beside me and we shared a cup of tea, talking about everything and nothing. In that moment, I made a silent promise to myself — that from now on, I will stand by her. I will put aside my own happiness, desires, successes and struggles. Because she is the woman I thought I knew, but now I truly see her.

And from this day forward, I want to be with her — to truly know her — for the rest of my life.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 26th, 2025