My father spends much of his time going to conferences on education.
I know it's odd for him that now people want to hear him because of me, not the other way round.
I used to be known as his daughter; now he's known as my father.
When he went to France to collect an award for me he told the audience, 'In my part of the world most people are known by their sons.
I am one of the few lucky fathers known by his daughter.'
A smart new uniform hangs on my bedroom door, bottle green instead of royal blue, for a school where no one dreams of being attacked for going to classes or someone blowing up the building.
In April I was well enough to start school in Birmingham.
It's wonderful going to school and not having to feel scared as I did in Mingora, always looking around me on my way to school, terrified a talib would jump out.
It's a good school. Many subjects are the same as at home, but the teachers have PowerPoint and computers rather than chalk and blackboards.
We have some different subjects – music, art, computer studies, home economics, where we learn to cook – and we do practicals in science, which is rare in Pakistan.
Even though I recently got just forty percent in my physics exam, it is still my favourite subject.
I love learning about Newton and the basic principles the whole universe obeys.