Peshawar In the winter of 1999, I took a bold detour from the academic path. After completing a summer semester at York University, I decided to skip the winter term and travel to Pakistan for four months. It turned out to be one of the most unforgettable decisions I’ve ever made. I started my journey in Karachi, then boarded a train to Islamabad. From there, my friend Omer picked me up, and we continued our journey together. Our first stop was Topi, where Omer had to collect some of his things. What followed was a wild and eye-opening ride through Pakistan’s rugged beauty and raw honesty. During this time, we experimented a bit—trying hashish and afeem (opium). Let’s just say it was part curiosity, part youthful rebellion, and part the openness that travel invites. We met all kinds of people, saw all kinds of places, and found ourselves in situations that were equally terrifying and hilarious. One night in Peshawar, we ended up at Arbab Road and had a strange encounter at a kebab stall—a man who began following us around, clearly with odd intentions. Spooked, we ducked into the nearest place we could find: a cinema. It felt like taking refuge in a sanctuary. What we didn’t expect was to walk into a Pashto film in full swing. As the movie hit its dance number, something happened that I’d never seen before: the entire perimeter of the movie screen lit up with flashing lights synchronized to the beat of the music. It was surreal, almost psychedelic. The clash of fear, laughter, and spectacle all hit at once. Today, I was going through old photos and found one from that exact moment. It reminded me how much of an adventure that time was—how deeply grateful I am to have experienced it all with a close friend by my side. Traveling, especially in your youth and without a rigid plan, is a gift like no other. Peshawar. Arbab Road. A memory I’ll never forget. Inside seats of the theatre.

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