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In the grand tapestry of my life, the backdrop was a country that bore the heavy burden of communism. Although I did not directly experience its grip, my understanding of that era was shaped by the stories my parents told, the films, the people, the architecture—the enduring remnants of a bygone time. The impact of such an era is difficult to fathom; it's akin to living under the shadow of a never-ending crisis, a lifetime of enduring a perpetual pandemic. Amidst the turmoil, I uncovered unexpected treasures. One of the most precious was the gift of free education, which endures to this very day. A free pass to law schools, medical schools, and the arts—bestowed without a financial burden. With academic excellence, even a stipend graced your pocket, leaving you in a position of financial strength. Music, too, was an integral part of this cultural landscape. My early musical education immersed me in the classics—the compositions of Mozart, Chopin, Haydn, Liszt, and their ilk. Other genres were scarce, but my heart resonated with the classics. As they say, you don't miss what you haven't known. The 1990s ushered in an era of change. Borders opened, and the populace was allowed to explore the world. My parents, aware of the profound significance of this shift, scrimped and saved, affording me the opportunity to venture to Spain in the summer of '97. It was a form of summer camp, and we traversed the landscapes by bus—a grueling 20-hour journey. Along the way, we paused in Paris, where our chaperones issued a clear directive: four hours on the Champs-Élysées, and then we'd return to the bus, guarding against the specter of human trafficking. As an introverted soul amidst unfamiliar faces, I ventured off the beaten path and found myself before the towering doors of a colossal record store. The music inside was tantalizing, but the prices were prohibitive. Yet, armed with emergency funds from my parents, I plunged into the mesmerizing cacophony of languages, cultures, and the swift rhythm of life. I was determined to be a part of it, so I randomly selected a CD— "Another Level." That serendipitous encounter would become a turning point in my journey. I may not have comprehended every word, but the raw essence of the music captivated me. It was an abduction of the soul, a moment of revelation. I realized that I needed to find a way to immerse myself further into this musical realm. A few years hence, destiny led me to New York, where I enrolled at the City College of New York to study jazz. The feeling I experienced in the bustling streets of Paris was magnified a thousandfold. It was an unrelenting whirlwind of energy, with 12,000 students hailing from 150 different corners of the globe. Set against the backdrop of Harlem, it felt like stepping onto an entirely different planet. In the bustling streets of Harlem, I always felt like a bit of an outsider. There was a time when I found myself wandering its vibrant avenues, without a guiding hand to steer me away from uncertain paths. No one was there to offer the advice I so desperately needed, to say, "Hey, friend, tread carefully, this road is filled with uncertainty and danger." I remember meeting this one guy who seemed really cool and he was like, "Bro, I have a setup at my crib, come through, let’s cook." When I showed up, there were several young women and toddlers hanging out in the living room. The vibe was pretty unique; I couldn't put my finger on it, but something seemed off. We went to an adjacent room and started working on a track. I remember it was pretty fire. Then, the cellphone in the living room rang. Everybody got quiet, and he ran out to pick it up but took a deep breath before answering, lowered his voice - "Hello, yes, are you a cop? Ok, which hotel, I'll call back in 5". Bro was running an escort agency from his apartment. I came back a few times, and I think we did finish a few tracks. I made a choice, I was going to immerse myself, dive right in. Later, he told me and explained what was going on. He shared with me that he was arrested for car theft and had to go to prison for a few years. He couldn’t really find any work, and music was his place of refuge. It was deep to see that. One serendipitous connection changed the course of my life. A friend from college, Greg Clark, opened doors to a world I could have only dreamed of. Greg was not just anyone; he was a revered session singer, a soulful crooner whose apartment on 7th Street, nestled between Avenue C and D, was a haven for musicians in the early 2000s. His place exuded an air of sophistication and maturity, something truly beyond my years. I fondly recollect Halloween soirées filled with luminaries like Billy Porter, Lisa Fisher, Nicky Richards, Chris Willis, Janice Pendarvis, Everett Bradley, Mike Harvey, and countless others. These were the voices behind legends like Luther Vandross, Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, and Michael Jackson. Amidst this gathering of stars, there I stood, absorbing it all—the essence, the jargon, the humor, and the whispered tales. Some of these connections I've nurtured to this very day. Greg, my guiding light, may have left us in 2010, but every time I meet someone who shared his world, an instant bond emerges. Thanks to Greg's generous introductions, I secured an internship at a renowned music house. It felt like a dream, for the man I interned for was a paragon of success. The notion of befriending him, let alone working alongside him, was surreal. Those years taught me invaluable lessons, most significantly, how not to think like a musician. Theories, harmonies, rules, and regulations became secondary when you had a mere 30 seconds to convey a compelling narrative. My mentor excelled at winning one commercial after another, commanding checks worth tens of thousands weekly. I oscillated between two worlds: one day, I'd be in boardrooms with major agencies discussing strategies, campaigns, and celebrities, and the next, I'd be in a lecture or a school rehearsal, feeling like I inhabited parallel universes. That 30-minute train ride downtown felt like a journey through lightyears. Simultaneously, my journey led me to the world of theater and live performances. It began with music directing a college production of "Dreamgirls," and the stage beckoned me to Off-Broadway projects and eventually to the Broadway pit orchestra of "Memphis the Musical." The bright lights and applause of the theater seemed to clash with the demanding world of scoring music for commercials, pushing me to make a difficult decision. Leaving the commercial sphere might sound foolish to some, but there was a ceiling to how far I could ascend within the confines of that music house. After years of relentless multitasking and being on call, I decided, "Enough is enough." I took a leap and pursued a path in theater and live performances. I toured with Raheem Devaughn, savoring the exhilarating life on the road.