002: SUMMER SIXTEEN
Transferred schools. Moved back into my grandmaās house. Landed a two-season internship that dropped me into the belly of the beast. Industry hours, student deadlines, two side hustles, and a sad attempt at maintaining a love life. I was broke, beat-up, and burning out. But I was in the game.
Commuting from deep South Jersey to NYC meant calves of steel, subway blisters, and enough sinus pain to make me hallucinate. I remember the infection got so bad I couldnāt hear right, but I kept pushing. Thought I was invincible. I wasnāt.
One morning, I got told to run an intern errandāretrieve a phone someone drunkenly left behind. Great. I take the train, hoping to give my feet a break. But the second those subway doors closed, I knew something was off.
The sound dropped out. The world turned chrome. My heart hit hyperspeed and my head felt like it was splitting in two. I couldnāt breathe. Couldnāt think. Just knew I had to get off that train or I was gonna hit the floor.
I stumbled out and collapsed on the platform. Flat on my back, right there on the grimy tile. People circled. Faces blurred. Muffled voices. Nothing made sense. I took ten deep breaths. And then⦠I was back. Heart steady. Ears ringing. Ego bruised.
My first real panic attackāand my first lesson in mortality. And yeah, my first thought? āDamn, Iām lying on a filthy MTA floor.ā
That moment rewired me. I swore two things: 1. Never die on the NYC subway. 2. Stop letting small shit kill you slowly.
That era was beautiful chaos. I saw the most art, partied ātil sunrise, hit every creative wall, and scraped my way through it all. But I was chasing too much, saying yes to everything, grinding alone, thinking that was strength. It wasnāt. It was ego dressed up as ambition.
Some wisdom came through the noise: Combat Jack told me the game requires groundworkāyou donāt quit just because itās not cute anymore. Jonathan Foaubi reminded me that creative block aināt some mystical curse, it just means youāre not pulling from your own damn life. That stuck with me.
The more I reflect, the more I realize: Iāve always been clutch when it mattered. I can build. I can create. I can dig myself out.
But I donāt need to do it all alone anymore. Saying ānoā is a power move. So is resting. So is trusting your timing.
Iām still in the searchābut now I move sharper. More aware. Less afraid.
And trust me, the next chapter? You're gonna want to see it.













