My first ‘proper’ published piece of writing was a satirical rant on being an unemployable graduate (arts/law), published in the now-defunct Heckler section of the Sydney Morning Herald. Heckler didn’t pay, but I arrived at the scene before digital overtook print and was thrilled to see my name on the back page of a weekday edition.

It was a couple of years after September 11. But the Australian media had its Muslim spokespeople, and I had no desire to be a mouthpiece in this excruciating moment. So in my debut mainstream piece, I didn’t write about being Muslim in an increasingly Islamophobic world. I wrote of my struggles to transform the high of graduating with a challenging degree into a meaningful career, one where the pile of rejection letters grew so thick I went from paper clip to bulldog. I included a template for a rejection letter in the piece, in what was, I suppose, a cleansing of my disappointment, but I did it with humour that was razor sharp. I wasn’t simply acknowledging my failure; I was critiquing an issue that affects most of us. And I didn’t question if it was my name or the headscarf I wore on my head that hindered my progress.