Building a Career as a Creative Immigrant

There are many things I loved about growing up in Egypt, more of which have come to strike me since I’ve moved abroad. But as a British/Egyptian creative, I always had one eye on the horizon—Egypt lacked the creative scene I dreamed of.

While I immersed myself in writing from a young age and dreamed of Stella Adler Workshops and the West End, we have no Hollywood or Globe theatre. We also have no way to get to them.

I never entertained the thought of staying in Egypt past eighteen, and it was at that age the opportunity that I’d been waiting for my whole life finally came—I moved to London to pursue my creative career.

It’s now been ten years and the Odyssey continues, despite my having gotten multiple degrees, including one from Cambridge, in the process. A decade later, I’m still attempting to build a career as a writer while fearing having nothing to fall back on and a long way to go should it all fail.  

My white whale was, and still is, New York, more specifically NYU. But my mother, pushed by fear that came from a cocktail of sources—abandonment issues following my brother’s death, fear of Arabophobia, fear of the time difference—put her foot down at an age where I could not refute her. No America. I had to be closer to home, and besides, I have a British passport.

The moment I got into drama school was one of the happiest of my life, closely followed by when I got into Cambridge. I still remember my father’s simple statement when I called to tell him the news, “You sound happy.” I never had any illusions about the path I wanted being an easy one, but I also never anticipated the problems that came my way.

I graduated from drama school into a pandemic, and from studying Writing for Performance at the University of Cambridge, into a writer’s strike. Being mixed race I didn’t fit into casting directors pre-conceptions of what a Middle-Eastern or even an average person looks and sounds like. My looks, my accent, my mannerisms, for whatever reason never matched their mental prerequisites. “I can play the run-of-the-mill best friend” I had told my agent, “You don’t need to only send Middle-Eastern roles my way. I’m not getting them anyway.” No use.

The job market hasn’t been an easy one and my choice in degrees hasn’t given me a lot to fall back on either. My agent dropped me when I had health issues that sidelined me from acting. Even attending Cambridge spawned few job offers. The industry is built in an elusive and unforgiving way.

My commitment to staying in the game means a commitment to trying to change the game. For a while now I’ve been focusing on writing my own work, where I can mold the world to suit my needs or tell a story that suits many people’s needs.

I love London. It’s been my comfort blanket for a decade now. The vibrant city where I slowly came into my own amongst the total hells that is your twenties. I’ve made and lost friends, networked like crazy and collected degrees like Pokémon cards. All in the pursuit of trying to make it as a writer and actor.

Every few months I go back home, tail between my legs with the same complaints that my family can’t put up with anymore. My mum ends every conversation with, “If you’re broke. Come home.” And though by moving away, I discovered a love for Egypt I didn’t experience growing up, moving back permanently seems symbolic of letting go of my dreams in all their splendor.

Hard as it’s been, I can’t let go of the seductive, ‘What if?’

Although drama school educated us on the mental health struggle and strategies to overcome that, nothing is the same as living it. Finding a balance between trying to pay the bills with a job that typically goes beyond 9-to-5, so you can pursue your art, time and energy to write or audition becomes a thing of dreams.

Creatives know how to hustle more than anybody. I’ve done my fair share of waitressing, dog walking, bartending, tutoring and more. As well as the fact that as the years pass by, people move with it. Childhood friends own houses, get promotions, and have children. It’s hard to admit, but I feel at times as though I live the life of a child—no financial stability and no growth.

Then comes the sacrifice  of knowing not only will you never get that time back, but I gave up a whole other life for my current one. I moved from my home, which, good or bad, feels like the safest place in the world. My friends and family have new friends I don’t know and new memories that I’m not a part of. The world around me keeps changing while it feels as though my own life is stuck in limbo.

There was a quote from “Mad Men” that always struck me: “Not every little girl gets to do what they want. The world cannot support that many ballerinas.”

Sooner or later, I know something is going to have to give. And I also know there’s no shame in giving up. In fact, peace of mind is a wonderful thing to aspire to. I’m simply not ready to give up yet.

I once had a screenwriting professor tell my class that we were children in a way, hoping to occupy our time with make-believe and fantasy. There’s a grain of truth to that, but ultimately I disagree. Nothing hardens you to the realities of adulthood more than aspiring to become a creative.

The fortunate reality is that all I have to do to reactivate inspiration is to get inspired. Reading an incredible book or watching a great movie or TV show (theatre is usually out of budget) is always enough to get my passion and commitment going. How amazing would it be to play that role? Do you know what this has inspired me to write? You have to watch this!

Sharing art is my love language. It’s not uncommon for me to watch a show I love three or four times so I can introduce it to people. With that kind of passion, how could I possibly leave it all behind?

Just now, I’m fresh off the news that my best friend, who I met in drama school, is leaving London and moving back home, wanting to save to build a family with her husband. London is not somewhere that brings her joy anymore. The freelance, uncertain lifestyle grates on people and her priorities have changed. And I completely understand. It grated on me and wore me down, too.

I’m not sure that London brings me joy anymore either. I may end up moving somewhere else, too. But my priorities have stayed the same, and with no impending solid career route, every decision feels impossibly frightening.

There are so many reasons I chose to pursue the things I have. One of them being the allure of certainty in a story. There’s a beginning, middle and end, it’s laid out in front of you what the characters do or don’t achieve. It’s hard to reconcile myself with the uncertainty of life.

I get asked all the time why I love acting and writing so much, and why do any of us love pursuing a career in the arts to the point that we forgo stability? I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, the arts have always been my happy place.

As a lonely child lacking the stimulation I wanted, I was fixated on the stories I loved, and they still have a hold on me. As an adult, it’s my way of understanding life and humanity and communicating with the world and myself. Letting go of it feels like letting go of an intrinsic part of myself, a plight every creative can understand.

Thinking about what I might have done differently is bittersweet. I can’t educate the masses on the fact that being an immigrant gives me an added perspective, not a limited one. But one thing I would’ve done was gotten myself the education or experience for a paying-the-bill job. That’s something I’m doing now, to give myself a renewed sense of commitment.

I’m currently taking a short break from London and am in Sinai, experiencing inspiration I haven’t felt in years. But my temporary work contract here ends in a few days and back to London I’ll go, at least until somewhere else sparks my interest.

After all, especially in these times of turmoil, dreams are too precious to let die, even when they wither.

*Feature image by nuvolanevicata (Adobe)