2025 is ending, and everyone keeps asking the same question.

“Are you happy?”

I wish I had a clean answer. I really do. Because on paper, 2025 looks like the year people dream about.

Invitations from places people wait years for. Forbes councils. Becoming Chair of AAAI Pakistan. Hundreds of thousands of followers. Millions of views. Dozens of projects, tools, innovations, workshops, talks, television appearances.

If success had a checklist, I ticked almost every box. But life doesn’t measure years the way LinkedIn does. And hearts don’t celebrate the way timelines expect them to.

The Part No One Sees

My Mother Rabia Bano & Me keep her in Prayers

I lost my mother in 2025.
And suddenly, none of the numbers made sense anymore.

Followers don’t hug you when your chest feels heavy at 3 a.m. Awards don’t answer when you want to call someone just to say, “Today i am tired.” Achievements don’t replace the one person who knew you before you were anything.

Before the titles. Before the applause. Before the confidence.
Before the world knew my name.

Where This Story Actually Started

I was 11 years old when my mother pushed me toward computers. Not because it was trendy. Not because it was fashionable. Because she saw something in me before I could name it myself.

At 15, she gave me something rare freedom. Freedom to explore. Freedom to fail. Freedom to be misunderstood.

While other kids were told “dont do this” I was told, “try it i am with you”

She stood with me when nothing made sense to anyone else. When income was unstable. When choices looked risky. When life was more about survival than success.

We worked together. Side by side. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes exhausted. Bread and butter didn’t come from luck. It came from effort, patience, and faith.

She wasn’t just my mother. She was my partner in becoming.

Why I Don’t Feel Like Celebrating

People say, “You should celebrate. Look how far you’ve come.”

And I understand that sentiment.
But here’s the truth no one likes hearing:

Every milestone feels incomplete when the one person you wanted to show it to isn’t there.

I didn’t want claps. I wanted her smile.
I didn’t want posts. I wanted her voice saying, “Mujhe pata tha tum kar logay.”
And that’s why I’m not praising what I’ve done.
Not because it isn’t big.
But because it wasn’t enough for her not yet.
She always believed I was capable of more. Even when I doubted myself.Especially then.

The Weight of Becoming Someone Without Them

Losing a parent doesn’t just take a person away.

It takes a version of you with them.

The version that could fall back. The version that didn’t have to be strong all the time. The version that could say, “Main thak gaya hoon,” and feel safe.

Now, strength isn’t optional.
Now, discipline isn’t a choice.
Now, failure feels louder because there’s no one left to soften it.
But strangely… there’s also clarity.
When you lose someone this precious, excuses die with them.

You stop running for validation. You stop performing for approval. You stop chasing noise.

You build with purpose.

Why 2026 Is Not a Resolution It’s a Promise

I don’t think 2025 was my peak. I don’t even think it was my rise. I think it was the year life stripped everything unnecessary and asked one brutal question:

“Will you still walk forward without the person who made you believe you could?”

And my answer is yes.

Not because I’m fearless. But because I’m carrying her with me. Her prayers. Her discipline. Her belief. I may not see her.
But every step I take is shaped by her hands.

To My Mother

I miss you.
Not in a poetic way. In a daily, quiet, painful way.
I miss the small things. The checks. The reminders. The silent confidence you had in me.
I wanted you to see what I’m building.
I wanted you to witness what I’m becoming.
But if you’re watching from above keep watching.

I’m not done. 2026 is not about proving the world anything. It’s about honoring the woman who gave me everything.

I will make you prouder.
Not with noise. Not with hype.
But with work that lasts.

And To Anyone Reading This

If you’re winning but not happy you’re not broken. If you’re grieving while succeeding you’re human. If your strength came from someone you lost you’re carrying a legacy.

Some years are not meant to be celebrated. They are meant to be survived.

And sometimes, survival itself is the bravest success.