On a scorching September morning, one of the most memorable days of my life began. I was among the students who arrived late to collect their graduation gowns from the university’s academic office. Before handing them over, the staff carefully checked each student’s ID, financial records, and library clearance papers against the official list of graduates submitted by the Dean of the Faculty of Law. It was only two days before the graduation ceremony.
This photograph was not taken on the day I shared it, but on my graduation day itself. Today marks sixteen years since that quiet milestone on September 18, 2009. At the time, Facebook was either unknown to us or perhaps had not yet reached our world in any meaningful way.
The phones we carried were simple Nokia handsets—sturdy, plain devices with small black-and-white screens. The sleek touchscreens people carry today were nowhere in sight. As a result, that important day passed without me keeping a single photograph of my own, and the moment quietly slipped away until years later, when former classmates shared the images they had preserved.
The camera that captured this photograph belonged to another era: honest and unembellished, showing life as it truly was. There were no polished event photographers or advanced lenses, only a few local photographers with modest equipment, quietly documenting memories in their own humble way.
I did not receive this picture until four years later, when I first gained access to Facebook and owned a small laptop. Many other photographs from that time remain missing—perhaps stored away somewhere or lost forever. Yet when I finally saw this image, it felt as though I had stepped back into that day, as if a forgotten memory had been gently restored.
Standing beside me in the photograph is Mohamed Ali Kaahin, my cousin and longtime friend since our middle school years. He shared that moment with me—present, steady, and part of a simple but meaningful joy that has endured through the years
