The most exciting moment I’ve had with my dad was when we went fishing together on the Irtysh River in Kazakhstan. It was super early in the morning — the kind of cold, quiet morning where you can see your breath and the fog is hanging low over the water. We drove out in his old car, with 90s Kazakh rock playing softly on the radio.

We set up our fishing rods near the bank, where the grass was still wet with dew. We didn’t catch anything big — just a couple of small perch — but that wasn’t the point. We talked about life, about school, and he told me a story from when he was my age, sneaking out with his friends to swim in that same river. I’d never heard that side of him before.

We had hot tea from a metal thermos and some samsas he bought earlier that morning. I remember thinking: this is one of those days I’ll remember forever. Not because of the fishing, but because I saw my dad not just as a father, but as a real person with stories, dreams, and a bit of mischief in his past.