Aisha Fatima

Wherever I go, I travel with a small notepad and some colours. By a small notepad I mean the notes app on my phone and by some colours I mean the sketching app (because let’s face it, I can’t carry all my journals and sketch books with me everywhere!). So, art and writing, two things I cannot go without; two things that define me; two things, that are by far the most meaningful to me. Whenever I feel anxious or sad or in emotional pain, I let it out by turning towards my study table. I take out my favourite journal and start to put down my feelings on those blank, vintage brown-coloured pages. I scribble words that depict my emotions. I connect phrases that describe my situation. I frame poems that ooze with heart wrenching stanzas. I compile fiction that floods one’s heart with grief. I write letters that you hope I never send because they are too sad. You might say my writings are a bit depressing. But they are real. Real emotions spilled on the paper. It might make people end up in a profound parallel universe. A world of consuming dread. This was quite a sad piece of writing! Let’s switch to something happy and vibrant now. Art! The burning crimson reds swimming in volcanos of gold. Blisters of coral orange glistening around oceans of deep green. Pools of psychedelic purple oozing from sprinkles of magenta. Vapours of midnight blue swaying over layers of taupe. A peaceful alternate world of mine amidst this chaotic reality. When my pen cannot find words to write, I switch it with a paint brush and swirl it around my canvas. I doodle. I draw. I create deep gray mountains below the bright shining stars. I create soothing sunset landscapes with calm water. I create my own abstract art. I imagine. I experiment. I paint. Art and writing are the two things I know I will never stop doing. They fill my soul with such a deep satisfaction that no amount of loss can ever extinguish. These two forms of media are so important because they represent the Yin and Yang inside of me. The fire and ice. Where writing is the frigid caverns where loneliness dwells, art is the burning expression that flows like liquid electricity. If you give me a blank canvas, I won’t just paint or just write. Instead, I would sketch mighty mountains with snowcaps of metaphors. I would paint gushing rivers with alliteration of waves. I would spray a billion shooting stars with fictional, fulfilled wishes. I would create realistic objects as blank verses. I would paint and sketch and draw and create an enjambment of my own. I would create a blissful painting through a tragic poem. These two forces at first seem as if they are at war with each other but are truly working in harmony to create beauty. They represent more than just images and stories — they represent me.