Mishal’s Common App Essay

By Mishal J.

March 25, 2022

“Take it now. You don’t know how much time she has left,” my mom scolds, shoving the phone into my hands. 

“Why do you need to be so morbid mama?” I grab the phone. 

I knew the answer, but my mom wasn’t one to shy from direct confrontation. 

“Phuppo just-” 

I cut her off, to respond to my Nani (maternal grandmother), who had already called me days before to discuss my mom's Phuppo’s (father's sister) passing.

As long as I can remember I’ve been put through routinely uncomfortable phone calls with my grandparents who live 12 hours ahead of me in Pakistan. I love them, but the language barrier always complicates things: my hesitancy to speak in Urdu, their difficulty speaking English and my sibling’s inability to speak slower. These calls were a skill. There was a system, a sequence: Assalamualaikum, how are you, I miss you, I promise to visit soon.

Recently I have found myself going off script. 

I ask if my grandfather has gone to Sunset Club, a restaurant he frequents. I ask about Mian Mithu, Nani’s bird, who I’d taken a liking to. I ask about how my little cousin, Rafaels’ fanart is going. I listen as she tells me about how Nana sits up in bed, staring out to the garden, missing Phuppo. 

My mom returned from Phuppo’s funeral with a praying routine and scheduled calls with my grandparents. She also brought a collection of Phuppo’s belongings for us, all reminiscent of who she was and what we liked: glass bottles that looked like lace for my collection, untouched makeup for my sibling, and expensive scarves that could only be described as extra. Lipstick and powders were left open on her dressing table when she went to the hospital. She passed believing she had time, time to use new makeup and scarves.

I find myself feeling like time is slipping through my fingers when all it does is move forward. However, no matter how far along I feel I am, I will always have enough time to look forward and exist in the present. 

A replay of my life makes me feel time is also fleeting as I synopsize all I’ve experienced into moments resulting in who I’ve become.

The moments I lived with 11 cousins for 2 years when I was younger, eating biryani for dinner and paratha for breakfast, to becoming vegan and creating my own variations of these meaty delights. How a visit to an art collector's home my uncle took me to in Karachi and the diverse collection of cultural pieces inspired me to set-up my room using mementos from my own experiences. 

There was the first day I walked into my school in 4th grade where the entire student population was 35 and then there is the school I contribute to in Pakistan for underprivileged students that now boasts thousands. 

My first plant that I potted with miniature tools to now living in a room my mother compares to a jungle and blossoming into an environmental activist promoting sustainability in architecture and fashion. The first time I picked up a crayon, now, creating paintings, sculptures, clothes – loves perhaps born of tiny things like sculpted earrings my Nani has gifted me my entire life or my informal role as designer for events back in Pakistan, despite my language barrier and infrequent visits. 

My life was in moments, a patchwork to result in who I am, and now I sought to gain insight on the moments that formed my Nani’s world. 

I ended another call to Nani with a genuine promise to visit Pakistan soon, excited to see my cousins, fill sketchbooks with sketches of new friends and old buildings, do mehndi (henna) under the heat, go to one too many shahdis (weddings), and eat 160 rupee paratha rolls until I can’t stomach anymore.