Six weeks ago, I graduated from university and currently find myself transitioning from life as an undergrad to life as a postgrad. This isn’t the first transition period of my life, and neither will it be the last. Long-time readers of this blog may recall the self-esteem crisis I faced following my A-levels. Rest assured, this post will not be filled with existential dread. The future is daunting, yes, but in an exciting way.
However, before we look to the future, let us take a moment to appreciate the past. As this blog has well documented, my journey to university wasn’t a straightforward one. What my blog has failed to document, though, is what I got up to while at university. This, dear reader, is the purpose behind this very blog post.
The last three years have been an absolute whirlwind of events. I’ve experienced highs and lows, love and loss, success and failure. I’ve discovered aspects of myself, both positive and negative, I had no idea existed. I’ve made lifelong friends as well as the occasional enemy and gone on so many crazy adventures that attempting to cover everything would be nearly impossible.
So much happened that there are simply not enough words in this single post to go around. As such, I’ve decided to focus on three key lessons I’ve learned during my undergraduate career in the hopes that you, dear reader, may learn something from me. Or laugh at me. The choice is yours.
Lesson #1: Popularity is not what it’s cracked up to be
I started university off the back of the dark days of Covid. Having been starved of human interaction during my gap year, I went to university with the objective of meeting and befriending as many people as possible. From the moment I moved into my university flat and quickly ushered my parents off home, I made a point of talking and introducing myself to every new face I saw.
Such a strategy paid off. I quickly made a name for myself, so much so that many of the people I met in those first few weeks had already heard of me from someone else. “Wait. You’re Aqil Ghani?! I’ve heard so much about you,” was a common reaction to many an introduction.
By the end of the first week, I was part of a group, collectively referred to as – please don’t cancel me – ‘the Vale Muzzies’. Contrary to what many believed, I did not create the Vale Muzzies. It was just a silly group chat name someone had come up with, and I just happened to be in it, thanks to my proactive friend-making ventures.
Not everyone in the group was Muslim, nor were we all living in the Vale. But for whatever reason, my name was the most prolific of the lot and very quickly became synonymous with the organisation. I kid you not, I would turn up at parties, and the DJ would stop the music to announce: “Aqil Ghani of the Vale Muzzies is in the building!”
If you find this hard to believe, I don’t blame you. It does sound like something out of an over-the-top American college film. Trust me, even I have a hard time believing any of this really happened. But it did, and I now suddenly found myself to be somewhat of a campus celebrity.
I quickly learned, however, that popularity is not what it’s cracked up to be.
Popularity in and of itself is not inherently bad. It’s a tool that can be used to enact good as well. It’s what you do with your influence that counts, not the influence itself.
That said, being popular means you’re no longer in control of your own time. When everyone knows who you are, it’s very hard to get any time for yourself. And while I am indeed an extrovert, I still value having some time to kick back and relax without worrying about keeping people entertained.
Almost every evening, the Vale Muzzies or some other group had something planned, and my attendance was expected. Many a time, people would say, “But if you don’t come Aqil, no one else will”. Not wanting to let anyone down, I began sacrificing my downtime for other people.
Don’t get me wrong, it definitely feels good to be wanted. But being wanted by everyone is really the same as being wanted by no one. I slowly began to lose all sense of self. Who was I outside of all these parties? Who was I if I didn’t have all these people around me? Who was I if I didn’t have the limelight?
As the days went by, I began to resent who I was at university. I no longer had time to read or write – two past-times I held sacred. I also started finding myself being dragged into all kinds of drama. When everyone knows you, anyone you associate with – or don’t associate with – suddenly becomes a statement.
My newfound popularity began to feel like a collar of needles wound around my neck. As time went on, that collar got tighter and tighter until right before my twentieth birthday, when I suffered two anxiety attacks within the span of a single week.
Don’t worry, I’m fine now. The anxiety is still there, but it’s under control. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’ve had anxiety attacks before, but never two in one week. It was clear the social pressures of popularity were getting to me. Something had to change.
I gradually detached myself from the Vale Muzzies, spending more time alone with my books rather than out and about. The solitude was somewhat comforting, but it wasn’t a sustainable solution. I ultimately had to learn to respect my time by not giving it freely to anyone and everyone, regardless of who I let down.
By the end of first year, the Vale Muzzies had pretty much all gone their separate ways. I stepped back from public life, preferring the company of a small select group of friends I knew I could trust rather than the huge parties and university socials I had been known for. Inevitably, I lost a lot of friends this way. But the real ones stayed. And it’s only the real ones you need at the end of the day.
Lesson #2: It is better to have loved and lost than never love at all
Love. ‘Tis a tricky thing to describe. For some, love means friendship. For others, love means songs from Yash Chopra’s movies. For others still, love… is to chill (if you know, you know). But for me, I think love is something I’m still trying to figure out.
Before university, I had never been in a relationship. Sad, I know. Especially for a hopeless romantic like myself. All I had ever experienced was a long string of unrequited loves. This all changed when I got to university.
Throughout my university career, I had what I would call three major ‘entanglements’. I’m not going to bait out the details of these as I think it would be better if I at least retained some of my already dwindling dignity reserves. Nonetheless, I will say this:
It is better to have loved and lost than never love at all. But what does that mean?
When I had my first entanglement, I felt like I was in love. When I had my second, I looked at the first and thought, “No, that couldn’t possibly be love. This is.” When I had my third, I looked back on the first two and thought I was crazy to call those love. Now, having been free of entanglements for quite a while, I look back on all three as mere naivete. But does that really take away from the fact I believed myself to be in love at the time?
After feeling pretty humiliated after my most recent ‘entanglement’, a friend of mine said something that stuck with me:
“The heart is a muscle like any other. And you just took it to failure. You gave it everything you had, and that’s only going to make you stronger. That’s why I know when the right person comes around, you’ll give them your all. And how many men can really say that?”
You see, that’s what I think love is. It’s to take your heart to failure. To give it your all. It’s the willingness to sacrifice everything you have, even if it’s not much. The parts of yourself you’re able to give may change with time. Sometimes, you’re able to give more. Other times, you’re able to give less. But to love is to give everything you have every time.
So perhaps I was genuinely in love during my three entanglements. What I was able to give just changed each time. And one day, when I meet that special someone I’ll spend the rest of my life with, I’ll be able to give more each day. Maybe that’s what it means to grow in love.
So yes, while I feel embarrassed and ashamed for my ‘entanglements’, I don’t regret them. They taught me to love a little better. I took my heart to failure and got a little stronger. Even though I never got the happy-ever-after I wanted, I learned to give it my all. And that’s why it’s better to have loved and lost than never love at all.
Lesson #3: Bank on your dreams, not the opinions of others
Contrary to what it may seem, I didn’t choose to study PPE – the degree, not the face mask – because I fancied becoming a politician. Instead, the logic behind the decision was that the twelve contact hours a week would give me time to focus on my creative passions. Besides, after studying PPE, I can tell you that anyone who has a PPE degree should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to run our country.
And so, over the last three years, between goofing around with friends and studying for a degree my parents could be proud of, I also established the foundations of my fledging acting career. Which brings me to the final piece of advice I would like to impress upon you, dear reader.
As you go through life, people will tell you what you should do for a living. What career path you should follow. They will tell you they know what is best for you. Your parents. Your siblings. Your teachers. Your friends. Your boss. Your spouse. One day, even your own children.
But you want to know something? They’re all wrong.
Though they mean well, they have no idea. They’re just guessing like everyone else. The only being that genuinely knows what’s best for you is Allah. But how many of us listen to Allah when making big life decisions? How many of us decide to take the safer option rather than trusting in the talents Allah has blessed us with? How many of us give up our dreams in favour of financial security or societal status?
I’ve gone my whole life with people telling me what I should be. My parents told me I should be an architect. My uncles told me I should be an entrepreneur. My teachers told me I should be a politician. Anything but the actor and writer I wanted to be. Don’t get me wrong, I could be all those things. We all could be all those things. But what is it that we should be? And how do we know?
I’m certain that my path is to be a storyteller. To be an actor and writer. Not because anyone told me but because Allah has paved the way for me. I can give many examples from my life, but let’s take the past year alone.
This time last year, I applied to graduate schemes in everything from consulting, management, marketing— you name it, I put in an application. I must have applied to over a hundred graduate schemes over the past year. They all said no. And it’s not for want of effort. In the Civil Service exam, I scored in the top 10% of the country and was still rejected. By all accounts, I failed in doing what many would call the “sensible” option.
Meanwhile, I continued with my acting. That summer, I filmed more movies than I had done in the two previous years combined. I wrote my first screenplay and collaborated with award-winning filmmakers. I started getting stopped in the streets of Birmingham because film students had seen some of my work and were inspired. And to top it off, I did my first live stage performance, starring alongside Mim Shaikh (whom you may recognise from What’s Love Got to Do with It? and Queenie). I – that same kid everyone used to laugh at when he said he wanted to be an actor – was performing live as a co-lead alongside an established professional actor!
When I banked on my dreams and the talents Allah gave me, my returns on investment were always much higher than when I tried to live up to other’s expectations of me. At the start of this year, I had two paths in front of me. The one everyone was telling me to follow and the one Allah crafted specifically for me. And so, after much hesitation and self-doubt, I took that leap and trusted in my destiny. No longer was I going to play it safe and become what other people wanted me to be.
Once I committed to that decision and rejected following any other path, everything suddenly became easy. I applied for a Master’s in Creative Writing and got it. I applied for a scholarship and got that, too. Then, two months ago, I got on Spotlight, and three weeks later, I signed with a talent agent. For the first time, the path to true self-actualisation was cleared of doubt’s fog.
Allah paved the way for me the same way he parted the Red Sea. And I know that because, truth be told, I’ve put in half as much effort into my creativity than I have into anything else and gotten twice the reward. Had I continued trying to be who other people wanted me to be, I’d still be getting rejected by graduate schemes. And yes, this is just the beginning, and I still have a long way to go, but it’s the beginning of what I’m sure will be a beautiful journey.
Is it the safest, most logical path to follow? Most certainly not, but nothing worth pursuing will ever be risk-free. However, I can tell you that it is a lot more fulfilling and rewarding than trying to be an architect. No offence to all the architects out there; it just ain’t for me. But it might just be for you. Your destiny is your’s to discover.
So, dear reader. Stop trying to be who everyone wants you to be, and start listening for what you’re meant to be. Honour your family. Honour your friends. But most importantly, honour yourself by turning towards Allah’s blessings rather than away from them. Bank on your dreams, not the opinions of others. Allah gives you them for a reason.
There’s an ayah repeated throughout Surah Ar-Rahman:
فَبِأَىِّ ءَالَآءِ رَبِّكُمَا تُكَذِّبَانِ
So which of your Lord’s favours will you deny?
The Qur’an [55: 13]
When I look at my achievements as a storyteller, I am reminded of Allah’s favour. If you look to your achievements on the pathway to your dreams, I’m sure you’ll be reminded of Allah’s favour, too. And who are we to deny Allah’s favour?
If you’ve made it this far in what has been a very long post, I commend you for having such a good attention span and hope you’ve learned something from my experience. Or, at the very least, got a good laugh out of it. As a reward for reading my ramblings, I leave you with a little highlight reel of my time at university: