Sometimes, I imagine myself in possession of a magical pencil—much like the one from my childhood dreams. In those dreams, I wielded a powerful pencil, a tool with limitless potential, which transformed my drawings into living, breathing realities. That is what I imagined would happen.

The pencil is deeply rooted in my hand; I cannot go a day without drawing. When life becomes too hectic, I seek solace in drawing to calm down; when I am sad, I turn to my pencil to lift my spirits. And when I am happy, especially with an anxious edge, I use drawing to ground myself.