Lost in Transit: Movies, Dying, and (S)Mothering

Prologue: Grounded in Houston – A City of My Many Lives

The delay begins in Houston—a city etched into my identity. It’s where my kids were born, where I spent fifteen formative years, and where every return feels like both homecoming and farewell. Today, it’s a five-hour layover that stretches into an eternity.

“Why this flight? Why me?” I mutter.

The minutes bleed into hours. Airports have a peculiar way of amplifying existential questions, as if the pause in transit reflects a broader pause in life. When I finally reboard, it feels less like travel and more like drifting—an uneasy sense of being uprooted and untethered.

In-Flight Double Feature: Cinema at 30,000 Feet
Somewhere above the clouds, I scroll through the in-flight entertainment and land on Mother, Couch—a bizarre, dystopian family drama. A mother anchors herself to a couch in a furniture store, refusing to budge. Her children orbit around her, paralyzed by her immobility, tangled in invisible threads of expectation and guilt.

It’s absurd. And yet, it’s painfully familiar. Aren’t we all stuck on our own metaphorical couches, unable to move beyond family narratives we inherited but never fully understood?

After the credits roll on Mother, Couch, I dive into Lost Lake Confessions. Four friends meet at a remote campsite, decades of unresolved trauma simmering beneath their conversations. Mortality isn’t an abstract idea here—it’s an uninvited guest at the campfire. They turn to psychedelics, to Stoic philosophy, and to each other in pursuit of clarity.

The rawness of their vulnerability stings. They wrestle with Memento Mori—remembering death as a companion, not a fear. With Sympatheia—the deep interconnectedness of all human struggles. And finally, with Amor Fati—embracing life, not despite its scars but because of them.

In their honesty, I see echoes of my own relationships—conversations left unfinished, truths left unsaid.

Dubai’s Limbo: Between Arrival and Reflection
The next stop: Dubai. A seven-hour layover stretches out, shapeless and heavy. Airports are strange places—they feel like purgatory, where time bends and thoughts linger.

In this limbo, the couch and the campfire blur together. One represents the weight of expectations, the other the release of vulnerability. The tension between the two feels deeply personal, as if these stories have peeled back layers I hadn’t planned to expose.

“Missed connections,” I think. Aren’t they the true subtext of our lives?

Family roots us, friendship liberates us, and somewhere in the tension between these forces, we exist. These films, unplanned companions on this journey, feel like teachers—quietly asking me to sit with the discomfort of unfinished conversations and the fleeting nature of connection.

The Desi Fajita Dinner: Grounding in Karachi
A week later, back in Karachi, I sit at a close friend’s table. Desi fajitas sizzle in front of me—spicy, savory, unapologetically layered.

I take a bite. Each flavor feels like a quiet revelation. There’s no urgency, no grand insight—just a moment of presence. The fajitas become a metaphor not just for this meal, but for life itself: layered, rich, and not meant to be rushed.

In this unhurried moment, the weight of Mother, Couch and Lost Lake Confessions settles into something tangible. The couch speaks to the roots we can’t escape, the campfire to the courage it takes to face life’s hardest truths with others. And here, at this table, I realize that integration doesn’t always come with fireworks—it sometimes comes in small, flavorful bites.

Epilogue: Reflections from a Journey in Transit
These two films—strange, raw, and haunting—have stayed with me beyond the screen. They are reminders of the tensions we hold: between family expectations and personal freedom, between mortality and the moments that make life worth living.

The couch, the campfire, the fajitas—they aren’t just symbols. They are checkpoints along this journey, asking me to pause, to reflect, to feel.

Life isn’t about finding one final answer. It’s about showing up—on couches, around campfires, and at dinner tables—and savoring the absurd, layered, and fleeting beauty of every moment.

from Rambling of an Itinerant

Acknowledgment
Originally published in The Express Tribune: Under the Weight of Absurdity.
Dedicated to Dr. Simi Rahman, my AKU batch mate, pediatrician, and psychedelic medicine/integration expert in California; Falak Madhani, a public health researcher at AKU for the fantastic fajita dinner integration; and my chaddi buddy Farhan Zafar for helping me reinforce the power of childhood friendships.