Jul 16, 2025
Personal
Where It All Began: Creativity Without Consequence
Everyone was a creative when they was a child – playing nonchalantly with their imaginations, pretending to be their own made-up figures in fantasy scenarios, or dragging their pencils and markers aimlessly across the page. That is until, for most, the wonder and naivety that ruled their world is filtered away by structured curriculums, pre-written mark schemes and pressures to pursue academia – the only valid pathway to achieve a solid standing in the world, to make it amongst the elites, or to become a trophy for loved ones.
As for myself, I didn't have a deep passion I wanted to pursue, nor a fixed route to reach a specific goal. There was nothing I felt like I was born to do. I was just going through the pre-determined education system, hoping to see if something will stick. I still did good in school, a decent all-rounder in all my subjects, an A-grader in my core ones, and at most never going below a B; I was my parent’s golden child.
But what stayed with me since I was young is my creative nature – something that was mainly just a pastime. I used to doodle, put things together that were once apart, make things with my own two hands from bare materials, and I used to try a lot of things (even if I was no good). As a kid, these things aren’t something you were taught to monetise; it wasn’t even on the table for me. I simply just used to do them, with no care of them being graded, presented to others, or ticking off a criteria. I just did.
Becoming the Golden Child (Without a Clue What I Wanted)
So as I traversed through school, the subjects I chose and the career options I thought about–I naturally inclined to those subjects that catered to this pass time, things I would most likely enjoy, such as Art and DT (Design & Technology), which led me to pursuing them at GCSE and A-Levels – again, hoping something I did in them would stick, but not entirely sure what I wanted to specifically do. I liked to draw, which led me to Art. Unfortunately my school focused on Fine Art (I sucked at painting btw). And my love to make things led me to DT (being more focused towards Product Design–back then, the physical type, such as making furniture and desk-tidies).
Where Things Finally Felt Like They Made Sense
It was leading up to A-levels, the final stage before university and pursuing a degree which would ultimately set my future career in stone I thought, that I had to think about what I wanted to specialise in; there would be no going back. I knew I wanted to do something creative, but something that would give me decent money. It was my dad that suggested Architecture; we had a home built in Bangladesh which is what I think prompted the suggestion. Before that suggestion, I had never heard of an architect, nor knew what they did. After researching it online, I jumped straight into it. Architecture seemed like my dream job: being able to draw and doodle, make things with your hands and then see them conceptualise in the big blue world, and being paid good money while having a respectable title like a doctor, proclaiming, “I’m an architect”. What more could you want? From then on, I decided to choose the A-levels closest to what would allow me to reach that goal, Art and DT, and who knows, maybe even become a starchitect one day.
Within my A-levels, in pursuit of this new endeavour, I catered all my projects towards Architecture. In Art, my work was themed around the built environment. In DT - Product Design, I built a bird house and constructed a table that also had seating and storage – it wasn’t quite architecture, but it was making things with my hands that sat in the built space, and the design process was very similar. I did great in my GCSEs, but here I flunked my A-levels – going from As in GCSEs to C-Ds in A-levels, often feeling like I was confined to a mark scheme and the checkboxes of an examiner’s criteria. I never felt like I had the freedom to do what I wanted, often working within the confines of my teacher’s direction or the points system of an exam board. I ended up not getting the grades to go to any renowned architecture schools, so, like the rest of my classmates, I ended up doing a foundation in Art & Design. This took me to Ravensbourne.
My First Creative Win Since School
Ravensbourne, at the time, was just a college of communication and design. I enrolled and successfully got a seat into their Foundation Diploma in Art & Design where I was exposed to experimenting with various design niches, from product design and fashion to 3d design and architecture. Students, for their final year projects, would of course then go on to niche down depending on where they wanted to be after – with me obviously going down the architecture route. I actually enjoyed it; there was no exams. I ended up getting a distinction, the highest grade. It’s not worth bragging-rights, but after two years of what was failures to me, it felt good to feel like I was winning again. With my new, more relevant, portfolio, I could finally apply to some decent universities to start my official step in becoming a fully qualified architect. After applying to a few places via UCAS (the university application system in the UK), I was given a conditional offer at the University of Westminster, based at a campus that was close to my home.
The Dream That Started to Crack
It was here, at the University of Westminster, where I came to grips with the real architecture – not just pretty sketches and floor-plans, but detailed drawings, intricate modelling and technical blabber. These things aren’t in and of themselves what struck me, but the sheer amount of time, late nights, and personal demand they required to progress to the next level is what put me off the most – it was suggested at one point: if you really want to succeed you should be working from morning to 10PM in the studio everyday. And learning for 7 years to legally call yourself an architect only to spend your early professional years working on someone else’s house-extension, loft, or detailed drawing of a window, while battling legalities and planning requirements/restrictions – all for a mediocre income – did not seem like a pay-off to me. And even then, for the exciting projects (which usually came once you’ve grown grey hairs, whether from age or stress), it would take years to see your ideas come to fruition.
First year at university was a breeze for most; it was the most conceptual, where you could dabble in the creative process. As for me however, I procrastinated a lot. And for architecture, where the time, effort and study-ethic is often compared to medicine, procrastination is a big thing. I flunked first year, so I returned the next year to resubmit one of my modules – yes, it was only first year and I already had to remain back a year. I should have taken the warning sign. But this would become a pattern – architecture throughout the course of my studies suddenly became the ex I would avoid. I’d invested so much time and money that I just kept going, instead of dropping it altogether. I can’t say I regret it, because things happen for a reason.
The Unexpected Role That Unlocked a New Me
It was the second year of my time at university (my ’repeat year’, so still my academic year one) that I was thrown into the role of vice-president of the ISOC - the Islamic Society. It was here where I had to wear many hats – organising events, hosting talks and socials, leading groups, producing social media content, sending promo emails, making posters, etc. It was a lot; I was without a doubt spending more time and effort on it than my actual degree. But it was FUN. And it was doing so well that prospective students and new students would say that they chose this university because of the ISOC – we were looking after people’s faith. And the content and posters I would create gained attention and positive feedback; at inter-uni events, people would ask, “Who’s behind the UWISOC instagram page?” or “Who makes the posters?”. At this, the head brother suggested: why don’t you start charging for this kind of thing? And lo-and-behold, that’s where RUH Design was born. If I was doing it anyway, and it didn’t feel like work, and I had a natural eye for it and if I could charge for it, then why shouldn’t I pursue it? And from thereon, I learnt more about the design field and its value, expanding my skillset from just posters to logos and brand identities, going from charging pennies back then to going into the thousands today, learning as I go along, and developing as I do more. My biggest teacher in this field was no university tutor or professor, but it was doing that taught me the most valuable lessons, and a whole load of trial-and-error, which I do to this day. But I reached a stalemate.
A Deep Realisation Draws On Me
Yes, I had a new passion and pursuit. But I no longer wanted to pursue what I had poured so much sacrifice into from years, efforts and loaned-money. While my peers got graduate jobs and everyone was starting their careers, I felt like I got left behind. I was jobless and RUH Design wasn’t exactly a money-making machine. I panicked and I carried my heart in my stomach everyday with a chest that felt like a 20 kilo rock. I applied to any job I could – retail, store assistant, admin, receptionist, you name it. But one thing I couldn’t let it do is tie me to a standstill for too long; I had to utilise any opportunity that came my way that would increase my prospects. And it was during this long, uncertain period that an opportunity came my way.
Saying Yes to the Unknown
Bootcamps – they’re intensive, short-term programs that teach in-demand tech skills like coding or UX/UI design to prepare you for job-ready roles, often in just a few months. They’re fast, practical, and career-focused. There was one catch – they are VERY expensive, ranging from around £5,000–£12,000. I came across a provider on the more premium end for UX UI Design, with their bootcamps costing around £10,000, but they were well-established and well-connected in the tech scene. At the time, I had seen they had scholarships available so I thought i’d give it a shot and speak to a learning advisor if I could get a free seat, making it clear that I absolutely cannot go ahead with it if I had to pay. I had nothing to lose for simply trying; I had no other doors open at the time, and this looked like a gateway into a professional career in design. So after months of what felt like a standstill after university, their experience team got in touch with me shortly after the initial call, offering me a tuition-free seat Alhamdulillah, with conditions that I perform well. I felt like the walls had opened up from me and I could finally feel a breath of fresh air. What followed was a few intensive months of learning the creative process for UX UI design, a meticulous field where I was navigating problem-solving, user interviews, strategy, wire-framing and prototyping in Figma, user testing, design systems, etc. Before this, I hadn’t heard of UX UI or thought about designing digital products, websites or apps. But it all came naturally – I think I was good at it because the design process was similar to every other design field I’ve studied, from DT in school to architecture at uni to graphic design for RUH Design. There was a lot of crossover from what I’ve learnt in the past, so I guess not all had gone to waste. I went from designing how people experienced a built space to how people experience a digital product, from navigating rooms to navigating screens. And it was fun. I got the Bootcamp provider’s diploma, with submissions that had top marks, and would ultimately lead to them asking me to be a teaching assistant for them two years later – to aid the learning of students who were in the same shoes I had once been in. With this new skill added to my belt, I could even expand my offering for RUH Design to offer more value to my own clients.
My Breakthrough into the Big Leagues
One of the great things about the Bootcamp was that it forced you into structure and discipline. You had deadlines you had to meet for submissions. And one of those submissions was a live portfolio site with case-studies, ready for job applications and interviews. It was with this portfolio that I landed my first professional role with a MedComms agency, which sat as part of a global healthcare consultancy. The opportunity came through a design challenge set by the agency’s Design Director, a deliberately-ambiguous brief he’d assigned to candidates hundreds of times over the years. After reviewing my submission, he told me it stood out so clearly that he placed it in his top two of all time. And that relieved my imposter’s syndrome.
It was with this agency that I experienced design in the real world with major players, not just small da’wah groups or individuals starting another atr or thobe company (if you know, you know), but for well-known brands valued at around £250 Billion or over, spending tens of thousands to the hundreds of thousands on design. This professional role was one of my biggest teachers. I learnt a lot and I was mentored by solid seniors and directors, learning from them what others had spent years of tuition studying for. I experienced design beyond just pretty visuals; I experienced strategy in the real world, the thinking behind design, its communication, and navigating client-facing situations, and I even learnt and refined new skills in different software, all of which I carry into my own work to this day. What mattered more to me, however – and it’s so embarrassing to admit – was that it was my first time having a full-time salary at a much later age than my peers. It mattered because I could consistently make decent money, I felt secure, I could support my family in every way, and I could start saving money to eventually get married – which to me (and i’m sure to many other brothers my age) was a big deal and a new stage to finally unlock in my life.
So that’s my journey so far, and how I turned a natural love for creativity into a career in design. It’s not to say my life is smooth-sailing, but it shows that not having everything quite figured out is okay. Where I am today was never planned, and i’m eager to see where I will be tomorrow. It was a mix of trial-and-error, and plenty of experimenting to see what worked. A lot of it was driven by curiosity and creative passion, but a lot of it was also driven by survival. And if you still need to string out what five key lessons you can take away from all of this, it’s this:
You don’t need to have it all figured out: Not everyone starts with a clear passion or career goal. Sometimes, you find your path by trying, failing, and following what feels natural.
Small beginnings can spark big opportunities: Designing posters for a student society was the seed that grew into RUH Design. Start where you are, even if it seems minor.
Real growth comes from doing, not just studying: Bootcamps, freelancing, and professional roles taught more than any traditional course ever could. Experience is the best teacher.
Rejection is just redirection: Missing out on top universities and failing early on didn’t end your journey, it rerouted you to a more aligned and fulfilling career.
Your timeline is valid: Getting your first full-time job later than your peers doesn’t make you a failure. Everyone’s path unfolds differently, and that’s okay.
That being said, the ultimate lesson I took away – and its something that matters now more than ever – is that everything is going to be okay. No matter what walls are up or what obstacles come hurdling my way, I've learnt that everything, with some action and commitment to work, will change and get better. And i'll use all of that as a reminder during my current obstacle: I was recently laid off. But that's a story for another time.
If you managed to make it to the end of this article, thanks for finding it interesting enough to continue! I wrote this more for myself if anything. And if you haven’t already, sign up to my newsletter here for more insights I continue to pick up along the way. Chat to you guys soon.