Why 'Under British Skies'?

Tomorrow, I'll walk into Mappin & Webb for my first day as a Sales Consultant. Next Monday, I'll stand in Birmingham Council House for my citizenship ceremony, pledging allegiance to King Charles III. Last month, I stumbled through my first salsa class in two years, remembering why I loved it before life got in the way. This May, I finally held my published book – "The CAD/CAM Jeweller" – ten years of knowledge condensed into pages that still smell of fresh print.

Eight years. That's how long it's been since 29 January 2017, when I landed at Birmingham Airport with a student visa and more optimism than warm clothes. Now, at 36, watching another autumn approach (I'll turn 37 in October), I'm not just changing jobs – I'm changing everything.

This blog is about that transformation.

The Year Everything Changed

2025 has been the year of tearing up the script. In February, I resigned from my CAD designer role – a position I'd held in various forms since 2015, even before leaving Tehran. In May, I published the book I'd been writing since practically the day I arrived in Britain. Three weeks ago, my British citizenship was approved. Tomorrow, I start serving customers instead of designing for them. And yes, a month ago, I walked back into a salsa class, remembering that there's rhythm beyond the hum of a computer.

If you'd told the 28-year-old me boarding that plane in Tehran that at 36 I'd be reinventing my entire life in Birmingham, I'd have laughed. The plan was simpler then: study at BCU's School of Jewellery, become a better designer, maybe stay a few extra years.

Eight years have a way of rewriting plans.

From Tehran Bazaars to Birmingham's Jewellery Quarter

My name is Hamed. In Tehran, I was a jewellery CAD designer, creating intricate pieces in virtual space, working with files and renders rather than metal and stone. The irony of leaving Iran – with its three-thousand-year tradition of goldsmithing – to study jewellery in Britain's industrial heartland wasn't lost on me.

But Birmingham's Jewellery Quarter spoke to something in me. These streets where craftsmen have worked for over two centuries, where tradition and innovation collide daily. At BCU, I learned that British jewellery making isn't just about technique – it's about stories, heritage, and understanding why someone chooses a particular piece for a particular moment.

For nearly a decade, I lived in the digital realm of jewellery – parametric designs, technical drawings, perfect symmetry. My book, "The CAD/CAM Jeweller," captures those years of expertise. Seven years of writing between projects, weekends spent translating technical knowledge into accessible chapters, countless revisions until every explanation felt right.

Publishing it in May felt like closing a chapter. Literally.

Why Now? Why Everything at Once?

People ask why I'm changing everything simultaneously. Why leave the security of CAD design just as my book establishes me as an expert? Why take up salsa again when I'm starting a new job? Why document it all in a blog when life is already overwhelming?

The truth? Turning 36 last October triggered something. Maybe it's the realisation that I've been in Britain longer than I lived anywhere else as an adult. Maybe it's the citizenship approval making me feel I can finally stop being provisional, stop living like I might leave next year.

Or maybe it's simpler: after eight years of building expertise, I missed being a beginner.

The Beautiful Terror of Starting Over

Tomorrow at Mappin & Webb, I'll be the new person. After years of being the CAD expert people consulted, I'll be asking where the staff room is and hoping I pronounce "Vacheron Constantin" correctly. In salsa class, I'm the guy counting steps out loud while everyone else flows naturally. At 36, I'm learning to be comfortable with not knowing, again.

There's something liberating about choosing inexperience. In CAD, I could predict outcomes. In retail, every customer will be different. In salsa, every song demands surrender to the moment. Even this blog – I have no idea who will read it or where it will lead.

What You'll Find Under These Skies

This isn't a jewellery technical blog (check out cadcamjeweller.com for that). This is about life at the intersection of cultures, careers, and choices. About being Iranian-born and British-by-choice, about leaving expertise for exploration, about finding rhythm – literally and figuratively – in unexpected places.

I'll share:

The daily adventures: From my first week at Mappin & Webb to the citizenship ceremony, from salsa disasters to small victories in pronunciation.

Birmingham through Persian eyes: This underrated city that became home. Where to find proper saffron, why Digbeth reminds me of Tehran's art district, the best kebab that isn't trying to be "authentic" but somehow is.

The food experiments: My ongoing quest to perfect Yorkshire pudding (why does everyone have a different recipe?), fusion experiments that work (saffron rice with Sunday roast) and those that don't (let's not talk about the Persian-British breakfast attempt).

The identity navigation: What happens when you dream in English but count in Farsi? When you automatically queue but still gesture wildly when excited? When "home" means two places and neither and both?

The 30-something pivots: Because apparently, I'm collecting new beginnings like some people collect stamps. There's something both terrifying and thrilling about admitting you're still figuring it out at 36.

Under These British Skies

Birmingham skies are moody, unpredictable, often grey – nothing like Tehran's vast blue certainty. But I've learned to read these skies, to appreciate the drama of clouds rolling in, the particular quality of light after rain, the way summer evenings stretch impossibly long.

Under these British skies, I've discovered that home isn't about perfect weather or familiar landscapes. It's about choosing to root yourself, even in unlikely soil. It's about publishing a book in your second language, taking a customer service job when you've hidden behind screens for years, dancing salsa in Birmingham because why not?

Next Monday, when I take my citizenship oath, I'll be making official what these skies have witnessed for eight years: the slow, sometimes painful, often beautiful transformation from visitor to resident to citizen. Not just of a country, but of a life I've chosen to build here.

An Invitation

If you're reading this on the eve of multiple new beginnings, welcome to the documentation of a year that promises to be equal parts exciting and terrifying. Whether you're also navigating major changes, curious about immigrant experiences, or just enjoy watching someone figure things out in public, I'm glad you're here.

This blog is my commitment to honest documentation. The triumphs and embarrassments (there will be many). The moments when everything clicks and the days when nothing makes sense. The strange beauty of being multiple things at once – former designer, new retailer, published author, terrible dancer, future British citizen, forever Tehran-born.

Because if eight years in Britain have taught me anything, it's that the most interesting stories happen when you stop trying to have everything figured out.

Starting over at 36? Living between cultures? Also trying to remember salsa steps while contemplating career changes? I'd love to hear your story in the comments.

Next week: "The Citizenship Ceremony: Becoming British at Birmingham Council House" – I'll write it immediately after, while the emotions are still fresh.

P.S. - If you've successfully transitioned from technical work to customer service, please share your wisdom. Also, does anyone know if "Would sir perhaps consider..." is still how posh British retail actually talks, or have I watched too much period drama?