Broken Keys

Part 2

My first job was as a cashier, during the night shift at an old gas station. The pay was horrendous, but it was just enough to keep me alive and well. Beggars can't be choosers.

Working at night and attending school all day, tore at my mind in the most exhausting ways, but it had to be done. The main and only reason for living through it, being the allowance my grandparents sneaked to me in exchange of the promise that I would graduate.

Even though my piano was gone, music was still very much a figure in my life during this time. In the classrooms filled with boisterous and shameless people my age, I discovered another way to enjoy the freedom music gave me. The new manner of freeing my mind was so fondly known by the name rap.

The rhythm and word play was a way of rebellion to others. Only a way of mocking and sometimes even flirting. Don't get me wrong; I heard some of the most amazing rhymes and poetry through rap, but the mainstream and popular part of it contained no emotion or feelings. I concluded that I wanted – no, needed to be better than that.

My schooldays became blurs as I sat in the back of each classroom with a notebook in my hand, and a beat in my mind. Always writing new things and going through books as fast as a bullet was shot. My hobby of writing rap lyrics soon became well known by my peers. All of the mentioned assuming I had to be talentless due to my downright denial to show them my work. They laughed at my appearance and nipped at my happiness by throwing words towards my mind like rocks. Dysphoria becoming a well-known mindset as time passed.

My mind worked that way for times to come, until I finally set myself free. The change of mind and sudden determination that cast my dysphoria aside, was led by a realization developed in my mind.

While looking around me I observed and came to the conclusion that I had tasted failure and frustration, and bowed my head down low. I'd kept myself hidden. But it is true that moss grows on a rock that doesn't roll. By sitting still and wallowing in self-pity when I couldn't return to the old times, I was losing at the game called life. I realized that I needed to go straight through my mistakes, accept that they happened and forget them. Only then could I grow. Only then could I move forwards towards my dream. The dream that everyone predicted was going to crash and burn. Why should I sit still and wait for that to happen when I could accelerate and rather run harder and faster towards my goal?

The new mindset didn't change everything overnight. The journey towards my dream was harsh and grueling. Reality kicking me down time after time. Words hit me from every direction, but I now had a shield that kept me strong.

From working at the gas station, to writing constantly in my old notebook.

Moving my stage from my dimly lit bedroom to the quickly growing underground scene.

The piano in my grandparents' basement was now only a fond memory in my mind. Music hit me hard and fast, but as Bob Marley explained, it no longer caused any pain.

That's all I think when I stand on stages today, in front of thousands of people. I think about the people who prayed for me to screw up, and say to myself "Never mind, them. Don't ever give up."