Creativity has always been my language; it just changed mediums over time.
Friends often ask me when I started making art.
The truth is, I didn’t start with a paintbrush.
I started with a pen.
Writing was my first creative language. It was how I made sense of my emotions, my frustrations, and the world around me. Long before I discovered watercolor, acrylics, or ACEOs, I was filling pages with words.
One of my earliest memories of writing for myself, and not for a school assignment, goes back to when my family moved from Karachi to New York and then to Houston. I missed my grandmother, cousins, and friends terribly. There were no cell phones and international calling was quite expensive so I wrote letters. Pages and pages of them.
Not emails. Not text messages.
Aerograms.
My children would probably have no idea what an aerogram is. It was a single sheet of lightweight paper that folded into its own envelope for international mail. I would fill every inch with stories about my new life in Houston, little sketches, and all the things I wished I could say in person. Whenever someone traveled back to Pakistan, I eagerly sent another bundle of letters home. It was my way of staying connected when my heart was still divided between two places.
As a teenager, those letters turned into diary entries. I kept journals with tiny locks, believing they protected my deepest thoughts. Eventually, though, I realized words could leave me feeling exposed. I worried that someone might read my confessions before I was ready to share them, so my writing became more abstract. Poetry gave me a place to express emotions without explaining every detail.
Through college, creativity continued to evolve. I often visited the Hallmark store and wrote greeting cards. When I moved to Kentucky, long letters to family continued. It was more thoughtful than a text. Maybe even a keepsake.
Motherhood shifted my creative energy once again. DIY projects, finger painting with my first son, and endless hours of Play-Doh became my new artistic outlet. Raising three energetic boys left little room for paints and sketchbooks, and for years my craft supplies stayed tucked away. Whenever I needed to untangle my thoughts, I returned to what I knew best: journaling, poetry, and the occasional blog post.
Everything changed during the COVID isolation.
While experimenting with a Surface tablet, I stumbled into the world of digital art. Around the same time, I found myself inspired by my cousin, the artist in our family whose colorful paintings I had admired for years. Seeing my curiosity, she gifted me a set of watercolor brush pens and a sketchbook.
That gift changed everything.
I painted constantly. Before long, my social media reflected more drawings than words. Then, last October, I discovered the world of ACEOs. Since then, my curiosity has only grown. Every few weeks I find myself exploring a new medium, a new technique, or a new way to tell a story through color and texture.
Looking back, I realize I never stopped creating. I simply changed the tools.
Today, art does what writing once did—and together, they complete each other. They help me untangle my thoughts, quiet the noise in my mind, and transform emotions into something tangible. They give my imagination, a place to wander, my soul a sense of calm, and my days a deeper purpose.
I honestly can’t imagine my life without a pen in one hand and paint on the other.
Author’s Note: The ideas, reflections, and perspectives expressed here are my own. This piece began with my original writing and was refined with AI assistance to help elaborate on and polish certain sections while maintaining my voice and message.
