Special Thanks 

I want to express my heartfelt thanks for your generous donation to my fundraising. Your contribution is incredibly meaningful to me, and it will have a lasting impact on the success of this effort. I’m so grateful for your support and encouragement as I work towards my goal. Your kindness and generosity has inspired me, and I couldn’t be more appreciative. Thank you for making a difference and standing with me! Even though I have hit my target I have decided to set a new mental goal for myself and hope to achieve it too!!

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Blog 2: Lying to my mother…both of us.

My father absolutely loved to play sports, mainly rackets sports such as squash, table tennis and badminton. However, his favourite and best sport was squash. Due to this hobby he decided to make me follow in his footsteps and also play squash.

I still remember the first day that he introduced me to squash and to teach me. It was a bright sunny morning and my father brought me to his favourite club called KGNS to play squash. He had been a member of this club for the past 5 years, consistently going every week. At first, I had no clue what squash was, all I knew was that it was a racket sport which my father adored. During the car ride there he talked and talked about everything regarding the sport. The rules, the equipment and the best players. It was too much for my little brain to comprehend. I did not understand anything yet, but once I got into the squash court and started playing, it was simply amazing.

After warming up, we began playing, and that’s when things really got interesting. My dad kept it light, letting me get comfortable with the pace while offering tips on how to improve my shots. He showed me how to position myself on the court and in time my swings got better, while keeping the game fun and competitive. Every time I missed tde ball, he’d give me a quick pointer, and whenever I made a good shot, he'd give an encouraging nod. It felt like a real bonding experience, and each time we played, I could feel myself getting a little better, thanks to his guidance.

After those early games with my dad, I got hooked on squash and continued playing regularly. I practised as often as I could, focusing on the little tips he has given me—like improving my footwork and anticipating where the ball would go. As I played more, my reflexes sharpened, and I started to understand the strategy behind the game. I also worked on my endurance, which made a huge difference in longer rallies. Over time, I could feel myself getting faster and more confident on the court, hitting cleaner shots and reacting quicker. Each session felt like progress, and it became a sport I genuinely enjoyed and looked forward to mastering it.

To this day I still play squash and enjoy it just as much as when we first started. Every time I step onto the court, it feels like a way of staying connected to him. The lessons he taught me and the memories of our games together are always in the back of my mind. Playing squash has become more than just a sport for me—it's a reminder of those special moments we shared, and I feel like I’m keeping a part of him alive every time I play.

*** look out for my next story on 4/10/2024

Blog 5: My Personal Trampoline... My Dad!

Before we start this story, just know I was 5 years old and did no harm to my father.

Every morning started the same way for me, and it was always the highlight of my day. The moment I woke up, I knew exactly what I wanted to do: head straight to my dad’s room and jump on his big, soft tummy. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, trying to be quiet, even though we both knew what was coming. I peeked into his room, and there he was, fast asleep. His belly rose and fell like a giant balloon, the perfect landing spot just waiting for me.

I snuck closer, barely holding in my excitement, and then I jumped. I landed right on his round belly, and it jiggled under me, soft like a cushion. He woke up with a familiar groan, not even surprised anymore. He was used to this—it was our little morning ritual.

His big belly was the best. It was like bouncing on the softest trampoline, and since I was skinny and light then, it felt like I was floating every time I landed. There was something about it that just made me smile, knowing I could start the day like this. He never really complained, not sure why. Sure, he pretended to be grumpy about it, but deep down, I knew he loved it as much as I did. It was our way of sharing a moment of laughter and joy before the day officially began. I’d bounce a few more times before finally rolling off, both of us chuckling.

The mornings felt special because of this. It wasn’t just about jumping on his belly; it was the connection we shared in those quiet, playful moments. This simple routine brought us closer, and it made the start of every day feel just a little bit brighter.

My love for football began in the backyard, with a slightly deflated ball, a patchy lawn, and my father. He wasn’t a professional footballer, but to me, he was everything. His passion for the game, especially for Arsenal, was contagious. Through him, I learned not just to play, but to feel the game deeply.

Every weekend, we’d sit together to watch Arsenal. Coffee for him, juice for me. It didn’t matter if the team was soaring or struggling; we watched every moment with the same enthusiasm. He would explain the tactics, the brilliance of the players, and why Arsenal stood for something greater than football alone. Over the years, I came to understand the depth of his connection to the club and how much it meant to him.

After the matches, we’d head to the park, kicking the ball around like the players we had just watched. My dad would try to imitate the finesse of Arsenal legends, and I’d do my best to follow his lead. Neither of us cared if we got it right; it was the joy of being together that made those moments feel perfect.

As time went on and I got older, our trips to the park became less frequent. Life got in the way. But when we did watch or play, it felt like nothing had changed. His stories about Arsenal’s glory days, about the players he admired, always brought me back to the simple love for the game that he instilled in me.

Then, unexpectedly, he passed away.

Losing him was like losing a part of my world. For a while, I couldn’t even bring myself to watch Arsenal. The empty space beside me made every match feel heavier. His old boots sat unused, a quiet reminder of the bond we had shared. I missed him more than words could say.

Over time, I found my way back to football. Watching Arsenal again felt like reconnecting with him, like he was still there with me in every goal, every tackle, every celebration. Though he’s no longer by my side, his love for the game lives on in me.