Rediscovering My Creative Side During the Lockdowns
- Asima Samam
- Jun 25
- 3 min read
By Asima Samam
Asima's Instagram
Moving from Bangladesh to Canada at 19 years old was a life-changing experience. Leaving behind my loved ones and countless memories, I came here for higher education and the dream of a better life. Little did I know that this decision would bring me some of the most outstanding achievements, despite its challenges.
As a freshman at Ontario Tech University, I was thrilled to meet, learn about, and understand the new cultures of a new country. I started my classes in January 2020. I couldn't sleep the entire night before the day of my orientation. What if I make a blunder when introducing myself? What if I don't understand what they are talking about? How do I dress myself, or how should I smile when talking to other students? Countless stupid questions that I had never before thought of kept creeping into my mind. It turns out, I didn’t need to worry. I was able to meet more people like me—new to the country, struggling to find the right words, yet beaming with happiness because there was someone similar. A few weeks passed and I started to enjoy the new company and setting of my life. Staying in a dorm alone made me feel independent, lonely at times, but I had my new friends to talk to. I knew the best days were ahead, and I couldn’t wait to make countless memories here! I couldn’t have imagined what would happen next.
Life took a 180-degree turn during the onset of COVID-19. I remember the day my university announced that classes would be cancelled and shifted online until further notice. I was in my room with my friends, praying that the classes would get cancelled. Why? Because we had a class test the very next day. We laughed and made plans. What should we do during these times? Go to the movies, the Art Gallery of Ontario, or even the Ripley's Aquarium. The possibilities didn't end until we received another notice the following morning: food would no longer be served in the cafeteria; only pick-up options were available, and there would be no socializing. The administration recommended that we move back home, and they would refund our residence fees.
The thrill of venturing out on my own was now replaced by the monotony of being locked in a room—not being able to meet my loved ones, not being able to attend classes, not being able to eat with my dorm mates; everything stopped. My friends and I decided to return to our home countries, and we were all on our way, but my plans changed once again when the surge started in Bangladesh, and all flights from Canada to Bangladesh were cancelled. My heart sank. The isolation and academic pressures were taking a toll on me. My parents were worried sick, since they couldn't do anything for their precious daughter, a daughter who has only alone for two months and didn’t know anyone, who could barely acquire proper meals or talk to anyone—they were panicking.
I soon realized I couldn't show my sadness through video calls anymore, and I started focusing on something other than academics. I had a passion for drawing and painting during my childhood, a passion that had been lost for years. Fortunately, my mom forced me to take some colours and drawing pads when I moved to my dorm. I had scoffed at her, saying I wouldn't have time to use them. I never expected that they would save me from the long hours of crying alone in my room.
During the COVID-19 lockdowns, my only view was the sky from my window in my dorm room. The view I had never looked at for more than a few seconds became the view I looked at for several hours a day. The ever-changing colour of the sky mesmerized me and made me realize there is so much to see in our everyday life. It made me realize I had never noticed such a clear sky in Bangladesh due to the immense air pollution. This sky became a subject of my admiration. It made me pick up my brush and stroke the ultramarine blue and titanium white acrylic paint on my blank, untouched drawing pad. Oh, a realization came over me: This is what I was missing. This indescribable feeling took over. Maybe that's when I realized how much I forgot about myself in order to create and settle into a new identity. Five years have passed since then, yet I’m still not over the countless skies I captured through my window—each one a quiet witness to isolation, hope, and healing—and even now, I find myself painting them, as if searching for the solace they once gave me.
