We live in a time where introductions often come laced with job titles and professional accomplishments. Women proudly introduce themselves as doctors, engineers, scientists, teachers, and many other professions. And truly, kudos to every woman who carved her own path with dedication and grace.
I, too, have walked through the world of food and medical research. Those experiences shaped me, taught me discipline, and added value to my journey. But among all the titles life has handed me, nothing compares to the quiet, overwhelming joy of motherhood. It is the one identity that has settled so deeply into my heart that I know, no matter what I do in the years ahead, this is the title I will always cherish most.
And why do I love it so much?
Let’s keep that story for another day.
Today, I want to share an interesting story about how writing walked into my life when I least expected it.
Like so many writers, writing was never a passion I grew up with. It wasn’t a dream or a talent I knew I possessed. In fact, the first time I realised I could write was through an incident that still feels like Allah gently took my hand and walked me through it.
The day a missed lecture changed everything
I was in class eleven, waiting for the Physics lecture to start. It was the time of our annual cultural fest, those few days when the campus feels unusually alive, and the atmosphere shifts from routine to celebration. During these days, lectures were optional. Students were free to attend classes or step out to participate in the events happening across the campus. Outside, the entire college campus was lit with cultural activities, so the butterflies in my stomach were already jumping and wishing to move out. Physics was one of my favourite subjects, but our lecturer, may Allah bless him, had a special gift. He could turn the most fascinating concept into something… painfully dull.
So I joined my friends who absolutely hated the subject, and we decided to skip the class. We tiptoed downstairs like undercover spies, half amused and half cautious, not wanting our teacher to feel ignored. A group of classmates came right behind us. Clearly, they had the same escape plan. We exchanged a look that said “Mission accomplished” and burst out laughing till our stomachs ached.
While talking to them, I casually asked what they planned to do during their newly acquired freedom. They said they were just going to sit in the poetry writing competition next door, only to pass the time.
I laughed, waved them off, and turned around… only to notice my friends had disappeared. Completely. Gone like they were swallowed by thin air or like they were sucked into the college walls. Going back to class was not an option anymore, so I joined the other group and quietly entered the poetry competition room.
The room was so silent that it made me rethink my decision. Was the boring lecture actually better than this?
But I stayed.
The topic was announced. Everyone bent their heads and began writing. I stared at my blank sheet for a good five minutes thinking, “I cannot write poetry. I am not a poetess. What am I doing here?”
But when I saw everyone else writing confidently, something inside me whispered,
“If they can write something, maybe I can at least try.”
So I picked up my pen (which I obviously borrowed from my friend)
One word.
One line.
One stanza.
Then another.
And before I knew it, an entire poem had flowed out of me. To my own surprise, I created something so heartfelt and complete that I could hardly believe it came from me. When I later shared it with my friends and family, they loved it. Click here to read the poetry https://culturalreboot.com/2025/12/19/fantastic-childhood/
Where the journey truly began
Three days later, the results were announced. I had won the first prize. Me, the girl who had entered the competition unplanned.
That event planted a seed.
Something shifted in my heart.
A gentle realisation: Maybe I can write.
Maybe this was Allah opening a tiny window toward a path I never envisioned.
And today, I sit here writing my first blog, taking the first step toward a journey where I dream of reaching the clouds.
Through this space, I hope to share bits of my life. The real, the raw, the funny, the painful, the reflective, hoping it brings comfort, connection, and perhaps a little inspiration to anyone who reads it.
When I look back at my life, every moment seems beautifully connected. Like a story written with perfect timing and perfect purpose.
Of course, it was written by Allah, Al Quddus, the Most Perfect.
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So proud of you dearest Ayesha sabah, congratulations on your first blog; your thoughtful words on Islam and motherhood are inspiring, heartfelt, and a beautiful reflection of your wisdom and faith.