When I lost my grandfather, something changed. Not just in the world around me—but in me. I used to draw—every line, every stroke a reflection of how I saw the world. But when he passed, the colors faded. My sketchbooks got dusty. It wasn’t intentional. But grief has a way of muting your voice… especially the parts of you that felt connected to joy. That was the first gift I put down.
Then came Braint Rowe. A brother in beats. A friend, a rhythm, a vibe. When he left this earth—it silenced something in me. I stopped DJing. Not because I stopped loving it. But because part of me was still waiting for him to walk back in and nod to the sound like he always did. The turntables didn’t spin the same after that. And I didn’t realize I was mourning more than a friend—I was mourning the part of me he made come alive
“And now… I’ve lost my last grandfather. The kind of man whose presence alone reminded me to stand up straighter.
And this time—grief didn’t silence me. This time, it gave me clarity. I’m done trying to live by other people’s expectations. I’ve carried the weight of approval, perfection, and silence for too long. If I’m going to live, I’m going to live full. And if I die—I will die in pursuit of my purpose. Every gift I ever buried… I’m digging it back up. My art. My music. My voice. My mission. No more fear. No more pretending I’m not meant for more
To anyone grieving—don’t just mourn what you lost Mourn what it cost you—and then, reclaim it.
Because sometimes purpose is the only way we survive the pain.
