By Farah Hina
Home, Identity, and Beginning Again
If you had asked me years ago where life would take me, I do not think Parallax would have been part of the answer! Looking back, I realise Parallax was not built through a single decision or defining moment. It emerged gradually through experiences that reshaped how I understood myself, others, and what it means to build a meaningful life.
From research, it carries curiosity.
From teaching, accessibility.
From mentoring, belief in people's potential.
From transition, an appreciation of identity and belonging.
In astronomy, Parallax refers to the apparent shift in an object when viewed from a different position. I have always loved that idea. Much of my own life has been shaped by changing perspectives. The future I once imagined changed. The opportunities I thought I had lost changed. Loss changed what I valued. The people who believed in me changed what I believed was possible.
I grew up in Pakistan, in a family where education mattered deeply. Qualifications and achievement were important, but so too were curiosity, compassion, and the belief that education could create opportunities, broaden perspectives, and shape how we contribute to the lives of others. At the same time, I was aware of societal expectations suggesting that extensive educational or professional ambitions might not be as important for women, given that many would eventually become homemakers. While creating a home and raising a family is a deeply meaningful journey in its own right, I have come to believe that these paths are most fulfilling when they are chosen freely rather than assumed by default. Women should feel supported in pursuing the lives that are meaningful to them, whether that involves family, a career, or, as is often the case, finding their own balance between both.
Like many young people, I thought I knew exactly how my future would unfold. I wanted to study medicine and worked very hard towards that goal. I imagined a future that felt clear, purposeful, and predictable. But….
Life Beyond Plans
…life took me somewhere else.
I moved countries following an arranged marriage at a young age. Then came motherhood. I found myself building a life in a country that felt both exciting and unfamiliar. I left behind my immediate family, lifelong friendships, familiar streets, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who had known me my entire life.
I was learning forms of independence I had never needed before. Growing up, I had been fortunate to be surrounded by many ways of support. Building a life in a new country meant learning how to navigate unfamiliar systems, create financial stability, and take on responsibilities that were entirely new to me. There were lonely days and moments when life felt very far from the future I had once imagined. Sometimes I wondered whether parts of me had quietly disappeared along the way: the ambitions that had once felt so certain, the plans I had worked so hard towards, and the version of myself I thought I would become.
Through all of this, my family remained an anchor.
My father, especially, had a remarkable ability to see possibilities where I saw obstacles. While I worried about what had changed, he focused on what remained. While I questioned whether opportunities had passed me by, he never seemed particularly concerned by the detours.
A few years later, I made my way back to education, where I felt I belonged. Deep down, I think I had always known that curiosity was a part of who I was: a desire to ask questions, understand people, and search for meaning in complexity.
Psychology gave me space for those questions. What began as a return to study gradually became something much deeper: a sense that I had found the questions I wanted to spend my life exploring.
By then, I was no longer the person who had once dreamed of medicine. I was a mother. I had responsibilities, fears, and a life that did not pause simply because I wanted to study.
I remember beginning university with a newborn in my arms and wondering whether I was asking too much of myself. There are moments in life when you cannot see the whole path ahead. You can only see the next step.
So you take it.
And then another.
And another.
Beginning again, one step at a time.
When I finally graduated, topped my cohort, and received several academic awards, these moments represented far more than academic achievements. They carried the weight of everything that had come before and reminded me that some dreams can endure even when life takes unexpected turns.
It had taken several years to reach a destination that might have taken a few under different circumstances. For a long time, those numbers mattered to me. I worried about lost time. I compared myself to imagined timelines. I wondered whether I had fallen behind.
For many women, particularly those from South Asian background, these timelines can feel especially critical. Cultural expectations around marriage, motherhood, caregiving, and professional achievement often coexist alongside personal aspirations, creating pressures that are rarely spoken about.
Even now, I sometimes find myself feeling an urgency to make up for lost time. To do more. To move faster. To fit ten years of work into five.
Yet the years I once viewed as delays shaped me in ways I could never have anticipated. Motherhood taught me perspective. Transition taught me adaptability. Difficult seasons taught me resilience.
The things that once felt like endings became beginnings. The opportunities I thought I had lost made room for opportunities I could never have imagined. The future I mourned eventually led me towards a future I am deeply grateful for.
A year later, I was offered a place to study Cognitive Neuroscience at the Institute of Cognitive Neuroscience (ICN), University College London. The experience broadened my perspective immensely, and I had the privilege of meeting extraordinary people from all around the world. Through their unique experiences, perspectives, cultures, and even cuisines, they enriched my understanding of others and the world around me.
UCL (delayed) graduation and shared with only a few cohort members due to COVID, but no less meaningful.
Sometimes, the course of our lives changes through an unexpected conversation. Following one with my personal tutor, Prof. Jonathan Roiser, I met my future PhD supervisors who later guided my doctoral research, marking the beginning of a new and deeply meaningful chapter.
Some of the most meaningful opportunities began with conversation, curiosity, and saying yes.
My research focused on interoception, the ways we experience signals from within the body and how those experiences shape emotion, mental health, and our sense of self. What drew me to this work was the recognition that human experience is rarely simple, a perspective that sits at the heart of Parallax. Our bodies, relationships, histories, environments, and emotions are constantly intertwined, inviting us to remain curious about complexity rather than seek easy explanations. This curiosity first emerged during an undergraduate internship supported by the Wellcome Trust, which sparked my interest in interoception. The questions it raised later shaped my undergraduate dissertation and eventually evolved into my doctoral research. That curiosity continues to shape how I think, teach, mentor, and approach the world.
As opportunities emerged, I became increasingly intentional about the projects and experiences I chose to pursue. The interdisciplinary nature of my work was never accidental. While some opportunities arose through the encouragement of mentors, collaborations, or available funding, I also sought out experiences that aligned with the questions and values that mattered most to me. Across research, teaching, mentoring, and public engagement, I was drawn to work that explored what it means to be human: how we understand ourselves, navigate change, build resilience, and make sense of our experiences.
The quiet strength of family, friends and mentors
Looking back, another thing becomes increasingly clear.
No journey is built alone.
Family and friends carried me through more than they may ever realise. Mentors, supervisors, colleagues, and collaborators shaped my path in equally important ways. A recommendation. A conversation. A chance opportunity. A few words of encouragement at exactly the right moment.
The people, communities, and shared moments that made the journey feel less solitary.
Alongside growth and achievement came loss.
Losing my beloved father changed something fundamental in me. Grief shifted that perspective. It reminded me that the moments we treasure most are often much quieter. Conversations. Encouragement. Shared meals. Phone calls. The people who make us feel seen. Belonging is often found in the people who make unfamiliar places feel like home.
One of those moments came soon after, when I passed my PhD viva.
As soon as I heard the words that I had passed, my immediate reaction was a sudden wave of disbelief that I would never get to share that moment with him. He was the man who taught me to see possibility where I saw limitations, to approach life with hope rather than fear, and to trust that unexpected paths can still lead somewhere meaningful. He believed in me long before I learned how to believe in myself.
Passing my PhD viva mattered deeply to me; it represented years of persistence, sacrifice, curiosity, and determination. For so many years, I had imagined making a call to tell him that I had done it. And then, in the very moment I had worked towards for so long, I realised that I couldn't. And perhaps what keeps me going is carrying forward the hope, resilience, and belief he instilled in me.
In the end, Parallax is a reminder that where we stand influences what we see. Sometimes the paths we never intended to take become the ones that shape us most profoundly. And sometimes, looking back, we realise that every chapter has quietly been guiding us home 🤍
