This is one story in two parts of two passions and two scissors.
Part 1: Life Scissors
From the outside my life thus far looks quite conventional. But look closer at the cloth of my existence and it’s not a simple pattern with straight folds. This cloth has been cut multiple times by the mercy of sharp and sometimes painful scissors, forming a new shape against the grain. With each new shape I am let to experience a new way of living with new joys, new challenges, new dopamine hits.
At this point in my life, I am at the start of a brand new cut and there are no chalk lines to guide me.
In one paragraph I'll quick-fire 17 years of my life: where each decision and experience has informed my passion project and elevated the happiness in the current pursuit.
I dropped out of my university course of Traditional Chinese Medicine (side note: quitting was unheard of in my family and I felt it was the end of the world) to pursue a career in jazz singing. Boy, was that a vibrant time full of excitement, disappointment, deep learning, wanting to stand out and wanting to fit in. When I outgrew this cut of life, or maybe I could never grow into it, I handed in my notice to the schools at which I tutored, I stopped hustling for gigs and packed my microphone into storage. I travelled for six months: hand-making goat's cheese in Austria, shovelling horse excrement in Germany, picking olives in Italy. And then back home to Australia where I entered my first 9 to 5 office job at the age of 29: entry level to data specialist, doubling my salary within 6 years. You can love and hate something at the same time. As much as I appreciated my experience, the lack of inspiration, the lack of satisfaction, the lack of joy crept in so very slowly until I was unknowingly suffocating. What was the point if I couldn’t enjoy the life that I was living?
All I knew was that it was time to create happiness through creation.
So I cut myself out.
I cut myself out with those life scissors once again letting a new shape take form.
Part 2: Craft Scissors
And so here I am in part 2 of this story in what seems like the 5th redesign of this life cloth. I am excited to have made the choice to remove myself from an unhappy pattern with now nothing defined for me. All I have is space to breathe and to explore. In this space I am ready to combine two passions and experiment with a brand new project.
Having worked in music and with data, my brain is creative and mathematical. For me this is a perfect balance to colour within the lines but with whatever pigments or materials that I choose.
Three years ago I taught myself to paint with watercolours as a daily ritual, a visual diary. My pictures were cartoonish and childlike but I loved how they captured the essence of my day and I began to appreciate the whimsical textures that the median could produce.
When describing a passion it feels like you should be wearing an Elizabethan collar and bust out Shakespearian vernacular like “thee” or “thou”. So bear with me as I count the ways in which my Juliet entrances me. There’s a sweet anticipation when the seal of two adjacent water skins break into each other. Their essences blend together with resignation and relief. That bleed between two colours which have not fully yet dried and combine, become at worst a dank brown. At best, a segment of the colour wheel is created with two colours becoming gradients of themselves to form a third. I love how upon drying, watercolours can make you look incredibly skilled when the truth is that you really just let the bleed do it’s thing and the wet malleable paper has weakened and then stiffened, highlighting where the paint gathered and dried in its final resting place. And voila! you’re an amazing artist who 'intentionally' created such depth and character. I feel the joy of when a single dot of white paint expresses the moist reflection of an eyeball. And that masking tape border reveal... the wild colours do not respect each other's personal space and engage in a rainbow orgy. But are juxtaposed and bound within straight, tight, clean edges.
As my skills improve, I retain my intention to use watercolours to express my heart. What better subject matter, what better muse, what a more appropriate modern day Mona Lisa than the love of my life, my heart: my French Bulldog, Gregory. Gregory, is a cheeky little thing with a flat face and abundant expressions. This stubborn, furry gremlin wears pride across his broad chest and within the same stocky body houses an uninhibited soul who doesn't want to miss out on a chance to say hello to anybody. He is my obsession. He is my passion.
Let the two passions combine.
The most difficult undertaking in this project is to select a photo to paint. It’s not difficult to find a perfect photo of the most angelic creature that ever existed. No, it is having to sift through one billion, nine hundred and sixty five beautiful photos of Gregory saved on my phone to find just the right one. But when I find it, it’s a pleasure to capture his likeness looking back and forth from photo to canvas because I could look at him all day long.
In this process I have definitely increased my skills in painting creases (there is no such thing as a long elegant nose on a French Bulldog).
Like most things that I am enthusiastic about, the most natural next step is: let this be a small business! Let me focus all my attention into what my heart finds joyful and in what my brain finds satisfying. It just took one comment from a friend, “I’d buy birthday cards with a dog on it” and I hit the ground running.
There is something romantic about running your own cafe in a small town, with homemade almond friands and on each table fresh daisies in rustic vases from the thrift shop. The modern day artist’s equivalent of this small town cafe is etsy.com.
The featured product will be prints of my paintings on 210gsm silk finish paper pasted onto the front of recycled cardstock. I love that there are so many components to create this single product. And I am in charge of it all.
Paint, scan, format, print, cut, stick.
I am a one-woman little assembly line. Executing each task in bulk excites me to seek efficiency and beat my PB’s in construction times. It encourages me to be creative within a structure and work towards a defined goal. Hello, Dopamine!
Each of my tools is pivotal in such a production line. Each instrument varies in quality representing a time when I was at a specific skill set. Like the cheap set of brushes tied in an elastic band with the single fancy branded brush from the art shop. Like the beginner's compact watercolour set stacked on top of precious paints stored in a stylish box. Like the clear glue from the supermarket which crinkled the paper upon drying vs the craft glue highly recommended by the guy at the paper shop.
I must admit, since I have developed a 'do it in bulk' system, I have upgraded to an A3 paper trimmer (that can cut up to 8 pages at one time!). But for those cuts where I haven't quite gotten the hang of slicing perfectly on the guidelines, I call upon my pair of scissors purchased a decade ago in a stationary store in Japan. They are battered now with the rubber finger insert ring tattered and uncomfortable. The blades are certainly not as sharp as they once were and they stick a little from when I cut up some glue-smeared paper. They have been the weapon of choice in chopping off shopping tags, separating a stem from its mother plant to propagate and snipping off my split ends.
These tools are my little team and I value each one of them.
Like life, this project is still in progress. I have a vision but am letting it organically evolve into what it will be. When I repurpose my craft scissors into its next phase from cutting 210gsm silk finish paper to whatever the next project is, I am sure my life scissors will begin a new snip for the next adventure. But for now, how grateful I am to pursue my passions and creations and generate happiness.
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Hind Rajab: A Child the World Heard Too Late
Cinema has always been a powerful medium for telling stories that history books often reduce to numbers. When a film chooses to focus on a single child caught in the machinery of war, it forces audiences to confront reality not as statistics, but as human loss. The movie inspired by the tragic story of Hind Rajab, a young Palestinian girl, does exactly that. It is not merely a film; it is a testimony, a memorial, and a question posed to the conscience of the world. Hind Rajab’s name became known globally after reports emerged of her final hours during the Gaza conflict. She was a child trapped in circumstances no child should ever experience. The film based on her story does not sensationalize her death, nor does it turn her suffering into spectacle. Instead, it approaches her story with restraint, dignity, and an unwavering focus on innocence lost amid violence. The Story at the Heart of the Film The movie centers on a young Palestinian girl who becomes separated from safety during intense military escalation. Through her eyes, viewers witness fear, confusion, and the fragile hope that someone, somewhere, will come to help. The film follows her final journey—both physical and emotional—using minimal dialogue and powerful visual storytelling. Rather than relying on graphic imagery, the filmmakers choose silence, pauses, and close-up shots to convey terror and vulnerability. This artistic choice makes the film even more haunting. The audience is left to sit with the child’s fear, her calls for help, and the unbearable waiting that defines her final moments. By focusing on Hind as an individual rather than a symbol, the film restores her humanity. She is not portrayed as a political tool, but as a daughter, a child with dreams, and a life that mattered. A Child as the Center of a Global Tragedy What makes this movie particularly impactful is its refusal to shift focus away from the civilian cost of war. The story does not revolve around soldiers, strategies, or power struggles. It revolves around a child who should have been worried about school, friends, and play—not survival. This narrative choice challenges the audience to rethink how conflicts are discussed in media and politics. Wars are often framed in terms of borders, ideologies, and victory. This film asks a different question: What is the price paid by those who have no role in choosing the war? By centering the story on Hind, the film exposes the imbalance of power and the devastating consequences faced by the most vulnerable. Artistic Direction and Emotional Weight The film’s direction is deliberately restrained. There is no dramatic background score overpowering the scenes. Instead, ambient sounds—distant explosions, static-filled phone calls, the quiet breathing of a frightened child—carry the emotional weight. This realism makes the film deeply unsettling. The young actress portraying Hind delivers a performance that is heartbreakingly authentic. Her expressions alone communicate fear, confusion, and bravery far beyond her years. The filmmakers avoid overacting or melodrama, allowing the story’s truth to speak for itself. Cinematography plays a crucial role as well. Tight frames and limited perspectives reinforce the feeling of entrapment, while long, unbroken shots force viewers to experience time as Hind did—slow, uncertain, and terrifying. A Political Film Without Political Speeches One of the film’s greatest strengths is that it does not rely on speeches or overt political messaging. Its power lies in its simplicity. By telling one child’s story honestly, it exposes the broader reality of civilian suffering in conflict zones. The film does not tell audiences what to think. Instead, it asks them to feel—and that is far more powerful. Viewers are left to grapple with difficult questions about responsibility, accountability, and the value of human life. This approach has made the movie resonate across cultures and ideologies. Even those unfamiliar with the details of the Palestinian struggle can connect with the universal themes of childhood, fear, and loss. Reception and Global Impact Since its release, the film has sparked intense discussion on social media, in film circles, and among human rights advocates. Many viewers describe it as one of the most emotionally challenging films they have ever watched. Critics have praised its ethical storytelling and refusal to exploit tragedy. For many, the movie serves as an entry point into understanding the human cost of the Gaza conflict. It has been screened at independent film festivals and community events, often followed by discussions about civilian protection and children in war zones. Most importantly, the film ensures that Hind Rajab’s name is not forgotten. In a world where news cycles move quickly, cinema has given her story permanence. Why This Film Matters This movie matters because it stands against normalization of suffering. It reminds us that behind every headline about war are real people, real families, and real children whose lives are forever altered—or ended. By immortalizing Hind Rajab’s story, the film becomes an act of resistance against silence. It insists that her life had meaning and that her death deserves acknowledgment, reflection, and accountability. In the end, this is not just a film about one Palestinian girl. It is a film about every child trapped in conflict, every unanswered call for help, and every moment when humanity fails its youngest members. Cinema cannot undo tragedy, but it can refuse to let it be ignored. And in doing so, this film ensures that Hind Rajab’s story continues to speak—long after the screen fades to black.
By Hasbanullah4 days ago in Humans
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