During my first year of university, I was living on-campus. I was trapped inside the walls of a small townhouse with three other girls, suffering from assignment overload and extreme boredom. I decided to join an art club on campus called A. R. T. (Art Resource Team).
You may call it propaganda masked as art, or Political art, or Protest art, or Activist art, or Street art, or use any other terminology that comes to your head. The point is that art has impact. I see it. You see it.
Before, I would’ve never considered writing as a possible career. When I immigrated to Canada that changed. There is something magical about moving to the Western World, something that makes people revive dreams they’ve once suppressed.
I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid that when I do die I will not have done everything I’ve wanted to do, and that worry stems from a very vivid moment in my life.