My Name Is Haroon and I’m An Artist

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Far too much of my adult life has been shaped by what others wanted for me.

My parents wanted me to have an arranged marriage to a (British) Pakistani girl. I did that. It ended in divorce. Badly. 


My parents wanted me to get proper qualifications and do “respectable work”. So I got an undergraduate business degree, then an MBA from London Business School. This was followed by a decade of working in startups. But something didn’t feel right, I never thrived in any of the jobs I did. 


It led to low self-esteem and a lack of direction and purpose. 
There is definitely a dissertation waiting to be written about the pressures South Asian parents heap upon their children to conform. It has a detrimental effect on their mental health. I attribute a lot of my own issues with mental illness down to this pressure to conform. I’ve made it my life’s work NOT to repeat this cycle with my own daughter and I think I’m doing alright at this parenting lark….so far!


However, I’m not here to blame others. I mean, there is blame to apportion to my parents, but still, at this stage, my gaze is fixed firmly in front of me. 


I played my own role in the above incidents and many more I do not wish to catalog at this point. Poor mental health, low self-esteem, these and many other factors played a role. But, I made choices. 

Choices are powerful. They create vectors that can take you off on adventures. Or can take you down paths that are jarring and unfulfilling, creating a sense of existential angst that will cripple you. 

My choices have largely taken me down the latter path. But there’s always time to change. To make new decisions. 

What I love about the new path I’m taking in life is that I make decisions that favour:

  • Inspiration
  • Creativity
  • Joy
  • Self Awareness

I’m currently reading James Victore’s book “Feck Perfuction”, a book full of wisdom and inspiration. It’s essential reading for creatives, artists and anyone wanting to live a more fulfilled life. 

While reading the book, I was struck by a section he has titled “Artists Sign Their Work”.

For my entire life, I’ve signed my name using the exact same style as my father, simply substituting the first letter of my first name with the first letter of his first name.

It seems like such a simple decision, but I feel this choice had massive implications. I chose to let my father influence me with his signature. What started as a small snowball turned into an avalanche as I made decision after decision to please him and win his approval.

As I read this mini-chapter, I asked myself the question:
“As an artist, how do I want to sign my work?”

Here’s the answer:


This is my name “Haroon” in Urdu, the language spoken by Muslims in the sub-continent, where my ancestors came from. 
I have chosen my own signature. 

I have chosen my own path.

I have chosen to be an artist. 

What will you choose?

Love Is An Act of Sacrifice

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“Love is an act of sacrifice”

This is from my favourite poem I’ve written over the past 3 years.

It was inspired by the closing lecture given by Robert McKee when I attended his Story seminar in May 2019.

This line is poetic. Beautiful. 

But now I have to put it into practice.

I’m sitting in a cafe trying to arrange a coffee with my ex-wife. She’s received a lucrative job offer that will take her and our 10-year-old daughter out of London.

Where exactly? I don’t know yet. My ex-wife wants to discuss the details over a cup of coffee. It’s apt. I don’t think I want to have this conversation on the phone. 

But I’m feeling very emotional. I’m sat in a Pret a Manger just off Berwick Street in the West End and I’m crying. The pain is too intense for me to have any success in fighting off the tears. I let out my emotions but occasionally scan the room self-consciously. 

I need to hear my ex-wife out and carefully listen to her. Process what she says and then figure out what’s best for our daughter. 

It may mean that my ex-wife takes the new job and I’ll have to make the compromise of not living near our daughter. 

I feel like I’d just got my life back on track and now this development has knocked me off centre.

Over the past 3 years, while my ex-wife and I navigated our divorce, I hopped around from one dwelling to another. Eight times in total. Each place in which I lived was not suitable to bring my daughter back to when I had my weekends with her. 

Then in November 2019 I moved to Morden in South London to be closer to my daughter. Finally, I’d found a place that was suitable for her to come and spend time with me.

My daughter currently lives a short 15-minute drive away. I’d managed to engineer the perfect set up. However, several weeks into settling into Morden, my daughter and ex-wife told me they’d be moving to Kingston Upon Thames.

My daughter wants a shorter commute to her school. Her mother wants a shorter commute to the school she teaches in. I can’t knock that. 

This required minor adjustments and I wasn’t bothered. However, now, I’m sitting here, speculating over today’s development. This isn’t a slight move around South London, this move will mean I can’t just pop down the road to see my daughter.

How far away will my daughter and her mother move?

Can I put what’s best for my daughter above my own selfish desires?

Assuming I’m able to do that, how will I adjust to this new dynamic?

The only way to find out is by leaning into the change. I must learn to trust myself.

The Best Time To Start Writing Is Now

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I’ve been putting off writing this blog. The idea for this blog first emerged early in 2017. It was going to be called “Finding Haroon”

Back then seismic shifts were happening in my life. Namely:

1.) I admitted to myself that I had mental health issues and sought professional help.

2.) I ended my 10-year marriage. Not an easy choice, but a necessary one. 

3.) I rediscovered my identity as an artist. Namely as a writer. 

I wanted to document my journey. It didn’t happen. 

The past 3 years were turbulent. I went through numerous mental health breakdowns. I suffered financial hardships. I moved house 8 times, each move added to the already towering pile of trauma I’ve accumulated since I was a young child. 

Also, I procrastinated. I didn’t write because even though I wanted to write, I did not view myself as a writer. 

That wasn’t my identity. So, my actions, or lack thereof, aligned with that lack of self-belief. 

But that changes now. 

I ended my marriage 3 years ago, but the divorce was not finalised until late in January 2020. My divorce weighed on me. 

Thankfully, I’m now free of that mental block.

I want to write. I want to create MY life. The one that I choose. Not a life that others have chosen for me. 

This life involves writing, it involves telling stories. I want to share my joy, pain and everything in between. 


I am Haroon. 

I am a writer. 

I am an artist.

That is my identity.