Turning 18 was supposed to mean freedom. Instead, it meant a flimsy card and a stack of papers deciding if I exist. And suddenly, these papers became more important than my own heartbeat.

How can I, someone who keeps things safe and then forgets where I put them, guard the papers on which my identity depends? I remember when I first saw my cousin’s CNIC. Her picture was completely washed out, as if caught mid-sneeze. Every CNIC picture I had ever seen made me laugh. And now, it was my turn to become an official card holder.

After my 18th birthday, the only thing my father seemed excited about was my CNIC. He kept reminding me day and night until I finally gave in. Before going to the Nadra office, I practised my signature, which was way too basic. Then we headed to the Nadra office.

There, I waited for half an hour, looking at myself in my phone camera. One minute, I would tuck my bangs in, the next, I would take them out again. By the time my turn came, I had already styled my hair in seven different ways. As I got up, God knows how my heart pounded with nervousness.

The lady assisting me asked a few questions. Then I was asked to sign and I ended up inventing a brand-new signature with unnecessary curves that looked like a pigeon’s nest. While I was still processing that disaster, she asked me to look up and just as I did, she instantly clicked my photo without giving me time to smile or fix my hair.

I gathered some courage and asked if I could redo my signature. Thankfully, she agreed. I signed again and then sat there quietly, accepting that it wouldn’t be so upsetting if I didn’t look the way I expected. After some time, the page came out of the printer. I looked at my picture and instantly yelped, “How weird I look!”

“It looks nice,” the lady said. She was definitely trying to comfort me.

After all the effort with hairpins and bangs, I still looked like someone caught mid-sleep. I sighed and stared at the picture. The girl in it may not look like the version I see in the mirror, but she is officially me. And just like that, I became “official”, whether I looked like myself or not.

My photo now feels like a laughing stock for younger people who don’t yet know what the process really looks like once you go through it.

Published in Dawn, Young World, May 2nd, 2026