The Eid Card: A Bridge Between Time and Distance

My Eid card collage features images tied to its journey—photos of the card and envelope, a Pakistani mailing stamp, a PIA airplane, a Pakistani bazaar, a family photo, bangles, and a reference to a book I was reading at the time--Roald Dahl'sThe Witches. But beyond the card itself, it became a reflection of my relationship with my dad, evoking bittersweet memories of love, distance, and connection.

When I first wrote the card in 2005, I was a child in Pakistan, carefully pressing my words into the cardstock, hoping my dad would receive it back in Canada. Now, holding it again as an adult, I feel like the receiver rather than the sender. This small object carries a profound shift in time and space—back then, I feared that being apart from my dad meant losing him forever. I didn’t understand travel or time; I only knew that this was the first Eid we spent apart.

The card was my attempt to stay connected, to express love and care. Now, I imagine how my dad must have felt reading it after months without seeing me. In many ways, this card holds multiple worlds—mine, my father’s, and my mother’s—woven together through distance, memory, and touch.

Tamagotchi and the Lessons of Impermanence

My Tamagotchi was more than just a toy—it marked a pivotal moment in my childhood. When the second version launched in North America, I was captivated by the advertisements, drawn in by the idea of having my own digital pet. As a kid who adored Japanese anime, the aesthetics of the toy fascinated me. When my dad bought me my first Tamagotchi, I spent the entire evening learning how to care for it. It became a part of my daily routine—waking up, checking its vitals, feeding it, playing with it, and carrying it with me everywhere.

Over time, I grew attached, feeling a sense of responsibility, even parenthood. But soon, the incessant beeping became overwhelming. I tried everything to keep it content, but the toy's constant demands turned into a burden. Frustrated, I muted it. Slowly, I checked on it less and less—until one day, I found it had died. The little pixelated angel on the screen shocked me. I had assumed it was just a toy, but its loss left me with guilt and regret.

Through my Tamagotchi, I unknowingly learned about impermanence—the fleeting nature of life, responsibility, and mistakes. It was a lesson in attachment, care, and the unexpected weight of loss, all wrapped in the form of a tiny digital pet.

The Santa Keychain: A Token of Lost Innocence

At first glance, the glittery green keychain holding a photo of my sister and me with Santa Claus seems like a simple holiday keepsake. But beneath its cheerful exterior lies a deeper story—one of childhood fantasy, cultural belonging, and an unexpected rupture.

Like many kids, I longed to meet Santa, believing it was a rite of passage into the North American holiday experience. Growing up in a Pakistani Muslim household, I was slowly becoming aware of the ways our family was different from the dominant culture. Taking a photo with Santa felt like a way to fit in, to feel “normal.” My parents, unfamiliar with the tradition but eager to make memories, took us to Scarborough Town Centre to see him.

Excitedly waiting in the long line, I started noticing cracks in the magic—grumpy elves, forced smiles. Then, I overheard Santa swearing on his break, casually adjusting his fake beard. My stomach dropped. Santa, the symbol of joy and generosity, was just a hired man in a suit. The illusion shattered. I went through with the photo-op, but something had changed.

Now, holding the keychain in my hands, I realize it’s more than just a picture—it’s an artifact of lost innocence. The child in the photo still believes in magic, while the child taking the photo unknowingly steps into a more complicated reality.