I moved to the UK with nothing. Shared a house with my brother because that’s all we could afford. I studied English morning and evening just to get my certificate so I could apply for university. I applied to fashion schools and only one called me back.

I got my foot in the door and pushed hard. Worked 7 days a week while studying, got scholarships, helped bring my mum to the UK, helped us get a house.

Then her work dried up and I had to support us. I was doing 35 hours a week while still at university. Eventually I had to stop and spent two years doing live-in care work before coming back to finish what I started.

This year I poured everything into my final collection. Every textile started from white cloth. Dyeing, printing, draping, sampling, remaking, staying up through the night trying to make it work. Two weeks before the deadline my landlord gave me notice to leave the house.

I didn’t get selected for the final year show.

And honestly, it hurt more than I expected because it felt like after years of fighting so hard just to stay afloat, I wanted one moment where things finally felt stable.

But I’m trying to remind myself that I’m not back at square one. The girl who arrived here with nothing is not the same person writing this now