After that first spark, I couldn’t let it go. Once I realized I could put words together that actually sounded right, I wanted to see how far I could take it. That curiosity became the start of my experimenting phase — the stage where I began to find my sound.
At first, I didn’t have original beats. I was writing to whatever instrumentals my family and friends would recommend me. Sometimes they’d send me something random, sometimes it was something classic. I remember choosing a few myself — Notorious B.I.G.’s “I Got A Story To Tell,” Geto Boys’ “Mind Playing Tricks,” and Wu-Tang Clan’s “New Wu.” Those beats had a certain grit to them, something that made me want to sharpen my pen and see if I could keep up.
What started as a random attempt at rapping slowly turned into something more focused. Each verse made me better. The more I wrote, the more I understood rhythm, structure, and delivery. I didn’t notice it at first, but I was shifting — moving from poetry into music, from just words on a page to full songs.
Of course, I still didn’t have a studio or equipment. So, I made my own way. I’d take my headphones and sandwich my phone between the ear cups, trying to simulate a studio setup. I’d use an app that let me record my voice and the instrumental at the same time. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. It gave me a sound, something to build on.
Over time, I built up enough songs to make my first tape — “I Got A Story To Tell.” It was my first ever mixtape, even though I never truly released it the way I wanted to. Years later, I put it on SoundCloud, but some tracks got taken down for copyright reasons. Still, most of it remains, a snapshot of my beginnings — rough, raw, and honest.
Looking back, that phase taught me more than I realized. It wasn’t about the quality of the setup, it was about the consistency of creation. Every song was another piece of the puzzle. Every recording, no matter how makeshift, pushed me closer to the artist I am today.